


(And Now These Walls) Come Crumbling Down

by phandomoftheowl



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, People die and then they come back, Various Mythologies, modernau
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomoftheowl/pseuds/phandomoftheowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't that Artie had anything against strange men coming to his room in the middle of the night to save his life. But Hynafol Emrys was an especially infuriating savior and all Artie really wanted was to sleep. Was that too much to ask?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out the gorgeous companion art to this at [chosenfire28](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/264574.html)'s LJ!

 

 

 

A long time ago, there was a girl who lived with the High Priestesses of the Old Religion. She was only ever known as _the girl_ , for no one knew how she came to the island or who her parents were or why she never spoke a word to anyone. She played with the wind and made dolls out of leaves and twigs. She was the priestesses’ daughter and their care taker, and sometimes she was their councilor. She spoke with her mind and kept her mouth closed. She did not have magic, and yet she understood magic better than most who came on the island. 

One day, a stranger - a man - came upon the island at the behest of a priestess. The little girl hid behind Malda’s skirts and peeked a look when the man drew closer. He was ghastly looking, with wild hair and eyes full of sorrow, but there was a gentleness about him that told the girl that she need not be afraid. 

That evening, when Priestess Amata asked her to deliver the food to their new guest, the girl’s throat clenched at the thought of seeing him up close. But, everyone had a job to do on the island, and this was hers: she took care of people.

The girl took the food-laden tray and knocked on the door, wincing at the high pitched creaking it made as she opened it. The man only made low grunts and motioned her to place the food on a low table nearby. She did as bid, and turned toward the entrance, intent on scurrying away from the man. Something stopped her however, and she stared at the man as he hunched over his food. Gone was his shaggy hair and baggy clothes; his frail bones jutted out as he ate and the girl was tempted to see if she could count his ribs. 

“S’good.” 

The girl jumped at his harsh voice. She nodded because of course it was good: Caryn was the best cook in all the lands!

“What’s your name, girl?”

The girl stood, petrified. No one asked what her name was - not anymore. She wasn’t sure if she even had a name anymore. Was it a name if no one called you by it? She didn’t think so. This time, she shook her head at him. 

The fain candlelight made his eyes look yellow. “No name, eh? That’s all right. I haven’t got a name anymore either.” 

_Everyone had a name_! she wanted to say, but she wasn’t familiar enough with this man to connect her mind to his. 

She walked closer to him until she was sitting right across, the rickety little table separating them. He looked so lonely and lost and the girl wanted to console him, but she didn’t know what to say or _how_ to say it. She couldn’t remember the last time she spoke, and why would she want to speak to this man anyway?

 _Because everyone needs a friend_. So she said the only thing she could think of - the only thing she knew he wanted to hear.

Tentatively, the girl touched the man’s fragile wrist. “I’m sorry you’re not dead.”


	2. Part One

_Friday, June 21, 2013._

“Hynafol.” The Marchog stood at perfect attention, waiting for the man seated behind the large contemporary office desk to acknowledge him.

The Hynafol turned away from the window, put his cup of coffee down on the table. The sun was beating down on the thick glass windows; it was sweltering outside and he had never been more grateful for modern inventions like air conditioning. “What is it, Marchog Aiden?”

“Anfarwol Niniane is here.” He didn't say ‘for your nine o'clock appointment,’ but it was clearly implied.

The Hynafol sighed. There were times when the Order of Draig seemed nothing more than a – what was it they called it these days? – a soul-sucking corporation – rather than a society formed to await the time of the Once and Future King. Although, seeing how headquarters were located in a posh high rise overlooking the Thames, it should hardly come as a surprise. 

“Send her in.”

Marchog Aiden, the Hynafol's newest assistant and warlock-knight, nodded and left the office to allow her entry. The Hynafol took a moment to compose himself behind his desk. Image was everything after all (or so he had been told over and over again).

Niniane walked through the clear glass double doors, the clack clack clack of her hideous high heels preceding her. She stood in the entrance, one deceptively delicate palm curled around her waist, hip jutting out to show off her trim figure in the dark power suit she wore. A playful smirk spread across her face.

“Niniane,” he greeted her with a curt, respectable nod. Her smirk widened. The Hynafol rolled his eyes. “Come here you shameless hussy.”

They enveloped each other in tight hugs. He had last seen her in 1963 and news had just reached England of Kennedy's assassination. They both decided the correct response to this was to get as tripped as possible on LSD. They had been so sure Kennedy was him. 

“It has been too long,” Anfarwol Niniane whispered.

“Much too long,” he agreed. He could have sworn she wiped a few tears away as they pulled apart, but he wasn't fool enough to tease her about it. “What brings you to lovely London? It's not a social visit, I presume?” It almost never was where they were concerned.

Niniane shook her dark hair out of her eyes and produced a newspaper with a purple flash of her eyes. “I bring news.”

“I have been told that is the purpose of a newspaper,” he quipped.

She swatted him with the paper in question. “Just read.”

He opened the paper to the front page. On it was splashed a large picture of a young, happy couple with a scrunchy, red-faced baby between them. The headline read: Royal Family Rejoices!

Below that:

Her Royal Highness, Princess of Wales delivers baby Ernest Arthur Henry Fitzgerald Pendragon on this day, June 21, at five minutes past nine tonight. The child and Princess are both healthy...

Merlin clenched his fingers tightly until they were white. “Oh.”

*****

_(Monday, 13 June 2031)._

Artie glanced all around the overly extravagant ballroom filled with dignitaries, other royalty, and various members of Parliament he didn't much care for. They were all laughing and – pretending to be, at any rate – happy.

He suppressed a snort as he watched Sir Lionel Hector Worthing approach his cousin Alexandrina Morgaine, princess of the Dutch Royal House. The knight stopped short when he saw her eyes flash warningly to anyone who dared break her circle of closest friends only to curry favor. The few who had been foolish to try in the past had found themselves humiliated in the most preposterous fashion, much to the amusement of everyone present.

Artie turned away from the falsely merry people and took a deep breath; he felt his throat constrict with the effort. All he had wanted for his birthday was to go down to the local pub and get as drunk as possible with his mates. To no one's surprise, his idea had been shot down faster than one could say ‘fuzzy blue lights.’ Although why one would want to say ‘fuzzy blue lights’, Artie didn't know. 

It was at that point in the night where his father was pleasantly tipsy on the rich wine, and the older women had stopped hurling themselves and their daughters at him. Very few, aside from his handlers, would notice if he ducked outside for fresh air to take a break from forceful smiling. Artie moved swiftly past various people, warding away their small talk, and made his way to the double doors that led out to the palace gardens. It was always a beautiful night this time of the year - granted, only if it wasn't raining cats and dogs and rats and other pestilence thereof, and turning the cobblestone pathways too slippery to walk on. 

It was usually difficult to give security – or the Handlers as Artie preferred to call them much to the annoyance of his father and the aforementioned – slip, but after a lifetime of practice, Artie had perfected it to an exact science. Besides, he knew there were guards all around the perimeter, so it was highly unlikely he was in any real danger just taking a quick stroll to the small pond at the edge of the palace gardens.

The sun had set a while ago. Guiding Artie's path were the fairy lights draped over the shrubbery at artful intervals. He couldn't help a snort. As if anyone cared for the decorations when they stumbled into the gardens at a party with _alcohol_. He ignored the unmistakable giggles coming from somewhere off to his left and zigzagged through the garden maze, through the small copse of trees to the edge of the pond.

It was quiet here. Unsurprising, considering not many knew of this small oasis away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. He preferred it. It was his small haven out here, even though his father had forbidden him from coming to this remote part. Then again, it had been quite some time since Artie had done everything his father wanted him to.

Artie picked at the pebbles supposedly carelessly thrown around the pond, but nothing up at the palace or its grounds was done carelessly. He rolled a smooth gray one in his palm before pulling his arm back and throwing it in, rippling the still surface of the pond. 

It was thrown back at him

“Wha --?”

Another small stone, then two, three. Soon enough, Artie was being rained on with pebbles from the pond. 

“ _What_?”

Artie pushed away from the edge, terrified (although he would deny it if anyone were ever stupid enough to say it to his face). His back had almost hit the circle of trees surrounding the pond when an unnatural, high-pitched wailing filled the clearing. Artie covered his ears and screwed his eyes shut. The owner – being? creature? – of the screaming was coming closer to him, but hell if Artie could do nothing more than lie there hunched over, protecting his eardrums.

Shit. Fucking bloody hell! It hurt. It hurt so, so much.

Artie peered through teary eyes to look up at his assailant. Did someone qualify as an assailant when their only crime so far was throwing harmless pebbles and screaming viciously? He wondered how no one else had heard the commotion and come to investigate. She – he? it? – was only a foot away from Artie now. Her – for the creature could only be a woman – long hair was green, almost tentacle like and it floated around her shoulders as it would were she under water. The woman, girl really, had her mouth twisted in a wicked moue, lips shut. In another universe, on another plane, Artie would have called it a smile, but here and now, it was too bright and she was too ethereal for it to be considered so.

Artie wondered where the screaming was coming from if her mouth was closed. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

She bent forward, her dress of reeds rustled around her. “Arthur Pendragon.” It was only after she said his name did he realize she had stopped screaming. No one called him by that name, so it took a second for Artie to understand she was talking to him. He was always Artie at home and Prince Ernest to the world.

“I – what?”

“Hush, now. My mistress has waited for you for a long time.” She touched Artie's cheek with a whisper light touch.

Artie was tempted to make a surly retort about how he was royalty, and royalty could rightfully keep people waiting for as long as they desired, but he was beat to it by a disembodied voice.

“Now, now. We all know how fond princes are of being fashionably late. Can't hold the man against hundreds of years of inbreeding, can we?” A disembodied voice that was mocking him. Lovely.

Artie decided to let the insult slide, though it rankled, since it seemed the man seemed a helping sort of fellow.

The woman spun around, her hair standing to attention like a halo around her. Her teeth bared, “Marchog,” she hissed.

“At your service.” The voice sounded so cocksure. He'd heard that tone before, usually from himself.

Artie wasn't defenseless. He had the basic defense training, but in the face of a strange, luminescent pond creature, he found himself quite useless. He tried to peer around the woman at who was speaking, but the movement caught her attention and before he knew it, he was being grabbed by the neck and hauled into the air by one of the reeds oh her dress.

“ _Fine_. Pull out the big guns,” another voice, a woman this time, said with the air of someone who wasn't here by choice and was very much bored with all of it.

The next few seconds were such a blur Artie remembered very little except for maybe an old-fashioned sword, some very bright, indistinguishable light, and another one of those high pitched, unearthly wails.

The last thing he remembered was someone close to him cursing in a foreign language before darkness claimed him.

*****

_Tuesday, June 14, 2031_.

“Ugh.” Artie woke to the unsavory sensation of drums beating inside his head. He also had a distinct feeling something large and hairy might have died on his tongue.

“Awake, then, are we?”

“Ugh,” he said again, this time because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. “Close those gods-forsaken curtains.”

“Or you could get up,” Lance, his oldest friend and Handler replied, but proceeded to close the curtains. “It's past noon.”

Artie grunted indifferently. He rolled over so he could look at Lance, who placed his signature hangover remedy on the bedside table. It was magic truly, because no one made it quite like Lance. Artie quickly gulped it down. “Dear gods above, I had the most _bizarre_ dream last night,” he muttered as broken images of ponds and creepy women floated through his mind.

Lance inexplicably froze for a moment before turning back to Artie with his usual smile. “It wouldn't have anything to do with how much you drank before walking out into the garden and passing out like a common drunkard, would it?”

“ _No_ ,” Artie whispered, horrified. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Tell me I didn't.”

“You most certainly did, sir.” He sounded far too cheerful.

“I hate you. Aren't you supposed to make sure I don't do something like that?”

“No, sir. I'm supposed to make sure you don't get yourself killed.”

“I hate you,” he said again. And just for good measure added, “A lot.”

“Yes, Arthur.”

Artie snapped his gaze at Lance's back. “What?”

Lance looked back at Artie with a confused frown. “What?”

Artie's heart thudded rapidly in his chest, though he couldn't explain why. “What did you call me?”

“Artie?” Lance answered with a tilt of his head. “Are you feeling all right?”

“No – You...” Artie was so sure he said -- “Never mind. Just tired, is all.”

Lance smiled understandingly and left. Artie flopped back on the bed. He tried to remember his dream from last night, but the more he attempted to hold on to it the further it slipped away from him. Only two words cut through the haze, bright as the light he had seen last in his dream:

Arthur Pendragon.

“Just a dream,” he reminded the canopy of his bed. The canopy offered no response. “Right.”

*****

When Merlin was notified of the disaster that happened the night before, he trembled with anger he had not felt for a few centuries. He wasn't sure who he was most angry at: Lancelot, for not doing the bloody job he was assigned; the warlock-knights he sent to capture the damned naiad; the King, for failing to tell his son the truth of this world yet _again_ ; or himself, the one who should have been there since the very beginning.

Clouds were roiling overhead, even though the weather report had claimed no chances of rain.

“I know what you're doing,” an amused voice behind him interrupted the oncoming storm. “And you need to stop. It was no one's fault.”

“Morgana.” Merlin slumped. He waved a careless hand to disperse the rest of the clouds.

“That's Your Highness Alexandrina to you.”

“What do you want?” he said, not in the mood to get into their verbal spars today.

“He is fine. No need to go into a big baby sulk about it. I was there when Lancelot brought him in, remember? You have an entire institution to run. You're not a simple manservant anymore who can go running after him.”

Merlin grunted. “He needs to know.”

“That I cannot argue.”

Merlin watched Morgana out of the corner of his eye. She had grown from the fourteen-year-old girl he had met in the summer residence of the Dutch Royal family all those years ago. He had been adamant in his wish to make Morgana a better person from the beginning this time: a person who knew her magic and was not afraid of it.

She had come to Merlin's School just as all the other young children who exhibited magical powers. While most of them mastered only one of the four elements of nature, Morgana mastered all, along with her old art of Seeing. She climbed the ranks of the School from a mere warrior witch to a full Cysefin.

It made Merlin proud, knowing he had been able to change destiny this time around, gave him the sense of satisfaction that things would turn out all right in this lifetime. Though the word ‘lifetime’ was a bit constrictive for Merlin's tastes. He couldn't really remember how many lifetimes there had been anymore. They were all a blur by now, marked by major events in the world's history. The good, the bad, and the undocumented.

Merlin remembered his hermit days from when Camelot first fell. He was sure they lasted some hundred years or so until he met Niniane. He had been stuck in a cave beneath moss and ivy and brambles when she found him. Merlin had protested her at first, told her he didn't need her rescuing. She had merely slapped his bearded face and told him to get up or she was leaving him here to rot. Niniane had been the one to inform him a century had passed. She was a Priestess who had been separated from her hunting party, searching for shelter for the night when she came across a 'dirty, filth infested waif of a man.'

She had saved him, and yet the world only ever knew of her as the woman who imprisoned him in the cave. Oh, the angry rants he'd put up with in the early thirteenth and fourteenth century because of that. He would never forget those decades. Niniane had taken to burning all the books she came across that portrayed her as the evil, heartless witch.

The next day she dragged him through the forest leaves, sunlight warming his chilled skin. He'd been without sunlight for so long, it was a novelty. Like a babe coming into the world anew, he remembered being fascinated with the world after spending so long in darkness. He stuck to Niniane like a puppy even when they reached the Priestess' temple. The Priestesses took care of him, nurtured him until he was strong enough again. They called him Emrys because Merlin was too painful a name to be called. He was a legend, they said. He had been there during Albion's Golden Time. _Had he really stood next to the great King Arthur?_ they asked. That was usually when he pursed his lips and refused to talk. They were all his friends, but Niniane – or Vivien as she called herself back then – was the only one he felt truly comfortable around.

She was the one who explained to him how the world had changed since he had locked himself away. How time had moved on, and yet magic remained. She explained immortality. Niniane told him that he would only ever be the true immortal. 'We're not all Emrys,' she said. Niniane, though an immortal, was of a different sort. She lived for a few centuries at a time and she used a new name every time. Nimueh, she whispered, laughing when Merlin scrambled away from her. It's okay, she explained. As her old body died, so did her old self, though her soul passed on. She apologized for what wrongs she had done to him back then. Promised him she wasn't the same bitter woman she once had been. Rebirth, she told him, was a glorious opportunity.

Somewhere deep down it rankled that Merlin would never have that. He would never get to experience rebirth like her.

There were more like her. He stayed with them for a while at the temple, but eventually, he knew he had to leave to truly become a part of this world again. Mostly he traveled, far and wide and everywhere, unhindered by manmade or natural boundaries due to his magic. It was freeing after living in a cave for a hundred years. He met more magical people, some friend, others not so friendly. Slowly, the world around him began to change. The Old Religion became nothing but stories, which later became myths that turned into legend and eventually, a new religion took over. Oh, there were still magical beings, of course, but they kept it in the family, taught their children on the sly. They didn't advertise it and as time went on, magic itself was considered to be something one used in fantastical stories.

That saddened Merlin more than anything. He had lived most of his early life watching magic be pushed away and discouraged. He had seen enough hiding to last him an era. He vowed never to let something like that happen again. Talking people around to the concept took some doing, but with the help of the friends he had made over the centuries, Merlin built the School of Myriddian. In less than twenty years, they had all the old families clambering to have their children attend to learn the old ways properly. It was like yester-times when parents would send their babes to the temples of Old Religion to learn the arts, except this time, there was more structure.

Soon enough, Merlin realized that though not everyone recognized magic to be real anymore, magical threats still existed. It was then he created the system of warriors in the upperclassmen of the School. Once a student turned eighteen, they had the choice to either become a protector, fighting magical threats, or become part of the large network of magical community as regular citizens: doctors; researchers; lawyers. Anything they wanted. There were different schools they could go to for that. However, the original school specialized in honing the children into warriors. They remained warriors in training until their finals two years down the line. They could go on further keep training like Morgana and Lancelot if they wanted to join the ranks of women and men who had sworn their life to the await and protect the Once and Future King. It was not for everyone, for they were handpicked by Merlin himself, and needed to have more than just a mastery over one or two elements. They had to be _special_.

Part of this circle was also the immortals like Niniane who had known and been part of Merlin's life for a eons. Those who had remained loyal and trustworthy over the years. Together they formed the Order of Draig, waiting for the time of their King and taking care of the secret magical community that had spread all across the world.

It was a stable structure, but unrest was stirring, for the Order Merlin had struggled so hard to create had been met with opposition. Deadly opposition at that, and Merlin knew decisions made decades ago were going to come bite him in the arse very soon.

“I think,” he muttered quietly, though crisply.“That we should pay our dear King a proper visit.”

“But –” Morgana looked too shocked for words. “You said...”

“I know. Believe me, I _know_.”

*****

His Majesty, King Winston Rutherford Uther Carlton was not an entirely unpleasant man. He was stern, most certainly, for that was how he was raised: a proud man who knew where he stood in life and what life expected of him and his family. But he was never too arrogant, or too hot headed or too much of anything really. Because people didn't want to see a medieval monarch in these times.

Uther was King, and more or less the summation of his upbringing. And what his upbringing taught him was this: Magic was real.

Contrary to the belief of most men on the street, those who scoffed and shrugged away uncomfortably when the topic was brought up, the head of the royal family always knew the truth. Despite eons of fighting and bloodshed and untrue accusations and executions, magic had persevered into the modern world.

He was first told of magic by his father when he was only a boy of fourteen. Uther remembered how he had been equally fascinated and terrified of the news. Mostly, he had seen it as the weapon it was. Something to be used against enemies, though discreetly. It had been very useful in his reign.

He had brought such success to his country.

Until... he overstepped.

Uther shook his head as he forced himself to come out of his reverie. That was all in the past. Many, many years ago, and Uther had been promised he would never dwell on it.

A short buzz echoed through Uther's study, startling him. It took him a moment to realize it was only his Private Secretary, Rt. Hon. Dame Olivia Woodworthy. She was a fierce woman with sharp, crystal-gray eyes and a mind that made Uther very glad she was on his side.

“Ah, Olivia. What tedious appointments have I got lined up for today?”

“None, sir.” She said, her eyes never looking directly at him, but a few inches to the right over his shoulder. “They have all been canceled.”

That was odd. He knew he hadn't approved for any of them to be canceled. “Why? Has there been an emergency? Is Artie all right? Has there been a terrorist attack?” He frowned, trying to remember if there was any mention in the reports on his desk. There hadn't been as far as he knew, unless it had happened in the last half hour.

Olivia's face, if possible, went even more blank. “The Hynafol Emrys is here to see you, sir.”

Uther felt his gut drop. He should have realized. Of course it couldn't be anything as simple as a terrorist attack. His life was not that pleasant by half. He composed himself immediately; he would be damned if he let that blasted sorcerer see him in this state.

“Very well,” he said when he knew he was presentable. “Show him in.”

*****

“Alexi? What are you doing here?”

Artie halted outside the door to his father's office when he saw his cousin. He was here for his regular Sunday luncheon with Uther, and he was already running a few minutes late. Last he had seen of his cousin, she was happy talking with her group of royal dimwits. If Artie didn't know for certain she kept them around just for her amusement, he would have questioned her judgment and sanity.

“Are you here to see Father?” It wasn't often, but Alexi was Uther's favorite niece, and he liked having her around as much as Artie did.

She seemed distracted and a anxious about something, but she did smile when she said, “No. Uncle is in an important meeting. No one's to disturb him.”

He scoffed at that. It never mattered to him anyway. His father had several meetings he had never minded Artie sitting in on ever since he was old enough to understand how their government ran. “I'm allowed, Alexi,” he said confidently. He motioned for the two bodyguards to open the door for him. 

They didn't.

“Her Highness is right, sir. His Majesty is in a meeting, and Dame Olivia herself has said he does not wish for any interruptions,” one of the new, tall, hulking guards said. Artie had a vague memory of someone telling him the man's name was Percy.

Artie looked back at Lance questioningly. He got a quick head shake in return. So no one had called his house to let him know about this surprise meeting. He wanted to ask Olivia for more details, but his father's Private Secretary was nowhere to be seen. Either she was in the room with them – unlikely if even Artie wasn't allowed entry – or she had anticipated his questions and fled. (Although anyone would be fool to say Dame Olivia fled anywhere.) That woman was fierce. There was a time in Artie's life when he was more scared of her than his own father.

He sat down next to Alexi in one of the plush armchairs his father had placed in the antechamber. Lance took his position by the other set of doors with Alexi's bodyguard. Artie didn't bother to hide the reason he had chosen this particular seat. Occasionally, if the people inside his father's office spoke loud enough, the voices carried through the vent right behind the curved armchair. He and Alexi used to huddle together in it when they were small, and kept really still and quiet because the faintest rustle meant they wouldn't be able to hear.

Whoever was in there with him wasn't an exceptionally sonorous person, although Artie could tell it was a man from the tenor of his voice. The voices were too low for him to make out words.

Until... It was only just audible, but Artie heard it.

“... well to remember why you were not exposed a decade ago for the world to see, Uther Pendragon.”

Artie held his breath while his mind raced a thousand light years per minutes. Was someone...was the man inside threatening his father? The _king _? Artie pricked his ears to try to catch any other stray words, but they were back to incoherent whispers.__

__Artie didn't have to wait too long to see this mysterious man who threatened his father. The doors flew open with nary a creak, and the man who emerged was far from what Artie had imagined._ _

__He was dressed sharply in a crisp dark suit. He wasn't as old as Artie had expected, but he was definitely older than him – maybe somewhere in his early to mid thirties he guessed. To anyone else he probably looked like every other rich tosser with a wife in the country and mistress in the city, but not to Artie. He could probably be mistaken for trader from the financial district of town – a well off trader with hedge funds and all those other complicated words Artie didn't really care about._ _

__This was someone else entirely. Their eyes met briefly, and Artie was sure he felt a jolt of familiarity shoot through him, like he had seen the man somewhere before. And then, as quickly as the feeling had come, it was gone, and the man was striding out with Alexi following him urgently._ _

__Artie bit his lip and glanced at Lance. Why was Alexi following the strange man?_ _

__Lance didn't return his look. He stared straight ahead like any proper bodyguard would. Utterly confused, Artie stood up and walked into his father's study, intent on getting his questions answered. His hopes were dashed at the harsh expression on his father's anger-flushed face._ _

__Uther never lost composure. At least not where someone could see._ _

__“Father?”_ _

__Uther looked up, eyes terrifyingly clear. “Ah, Artie. Perhaps it is best we push our meeting to tomorrow.”_ _

__“Yes, sir.” Artie backed out of the room. He needed to find Alexi._ _

__He didn't have to go very far. They were only a few corridors away, tucked into a secluded parlour away from the hustle and bustle of the main palace. Artie had never been so glad to know every nook and cranny of the palace as he did. He turned around sharply down the servants’ corridors, climbed three flights of stairs and ducked behind the tapestry that concealed an alcove that opened into a passage very few people knew about. He had to climb down a spiraling staircase until he was level with the room Alexi had taken the man into. He peered through the little spy window high on the wall._ _

__As unexpected surprises seemed to be the theme of the day, Artie took it in stride when he saw not only Alexi speaking with the stranger as if they were close friends, but Lance as well. How had he beaten Artie? When Artie left Uther's office, he'd given Lance strict order to stay put._ _

__“What did he say?” Lance's deep, gentle voice carried to the vaulted ceiling._ _

__The impeccably dressed stranger ran a broad palm over his face. His previously calm, controlled expression fell away and gave way to exhaustion. It made him look much older than Artie's earlier estimate of mid-thirties._ _

__“Nothing. More of the same. What did you expect?” he said. “We're increasing security. Gareth and Isobel will be here tonight. And Arthur's chauffeur will be replaced by Gwaine.”_ _

__“But they're only Dewin and Marchog!” Alexi said indignantly._ _

__Artie would have been touched by her concern for him had he not been busy getting annoyed at the secrets being kept from him. And who exactly did this man think he was assigning Artie unknown security? For that matter, what was a Dewin or Marchog?_ _

__The man raised a palm to quiet her. They were, Artie noticed, gloved, which he found very odd for this time of year. “They are more than capable. They'll help Lancelot and Percival just well. I cannot spare any more members of the Council. Someone needs to keep the Order secure and we cannot do that when your dear cousin and her brother threaten to defect every other day. Iseldir can only handle so much.” The man spoke softly but decisively. Artie had heard his father use the very same tone many times before._ _

__Artie didn't know who this Iseldir was, but he had a strange notion he very much knew this cousin and brother duo the man spoke about so disdainfully._ _

__“Careful now, they are still part of the Order, wavering loyalties or not,” Alexi said with her trademark smirk Artie had long ago dubbed _I love watching you burn_. _ _

__“They need to pick a side soon,” Lance interjected harshly._ _

__The man gave a shout of laughter that would have sounded beautiful if it weren't so terrible. “Have they ever?” Artie wanted to touch him – to reassure the man of something - he wasn't quite sure what . “I should leave. Uther won't take kindly to me lingering here.” He made a dismissive gesture to Alexi. “No, Morgana. You have to stay here. Keep an eye on Arthur.”_ _

___Arthur_. He'd said that name again. The name from his dream -- had it really been a dream? If it was, why could he remember every detail vividly? Dreams rarely did that._ _

__And he had called Alexi, Morgana. Why?_ _

__He looked at his wrist, presumably to check the time. “I really do have to get back. I have a meeting soon.”_ _

__“Council?” Lance asked._ _

__The man gave a wry grin. “ _Board_.”_ _

__Artie twisted his lips, thoroughly baffled at the conversation he'd just witnessed. He'd come up here expecting answers, but the number of new queries kept building up._ _

__Also, he hadn't found out his goddamned name._ _

____

*****

Merlin hated these board meetings. In an age where everything ran on computers and the world needed to know everything about everyone, a simple decision needed dozens of people and words like shares and plummeting and division of labor. For fuck’s sake. When he had opened the School with the intention of uniting the Magical folk, he hadn't planned on this fucking circus.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to drown out the voice of the irritating little twit who was chosen as representative for the Sidhe. She was fluttering rapidly over his bowl of Avalon water, waving her staff threateningly at the Elven ambassador. They were arguing about their bloody stocks. Running an entire secret world required time, and effort, and most of all, it required _money_. At the moment, the biggest players on the board happened to be the Elves, and for some fuck-off reason the Sidhe didn't appreciate this much.

It didn't help that every time he so much as blinked, all he could see was Arthur – just as brilliant, just as obnoxiously good-looking, just as childishly confused. His eyes had not lost their intensity one bit. He was still the noble prat, whether he knew it yet or not. Merlin had distanced himself as much as possible over the years. He had promised himself ten years ago he wouldn't risk being near Arthur again. That day would always haunt him forever. But today. He hadn't expected it today. Or maybe he had. Maybe that was why he had gone to the palace when he _knew_ Arthur would be there too. He'd always been careful to keep miles between himself and Arthur before now. All his wards, all his self-preservation had flown out of the door when he saw him sitting in that frivolous chair. It had taken all his effort not to go to him. Only the knowledge that Morgana and Lancelot were watching him, protecting Arthur from every threat – even if that threat happened to be Merlin – gave him the strength to walk away.

“It is hardly our fault the Dwarves are investing in us rather than a bunch of minuscule, blue fairies,” Alnyth sneered down his pointy nose at Asrai. “At least our money isn't covered in blood.”

Asrai fluttered her tiny wings with more ferocity. “How dare you – Sidhe guard the Portal to the next world. How dare you sully and dishonor the service we give. How dare you imply–”

“I am not implying anything,” Alnyth shrugged a shoulder delicately. “I merely state fact.”

That started another round of pointless accusations and lack of resolutions. Merlin had more important things to worry about. An impending mutiny and war, for example.

“That is enough.” A loud crack resounded through the room, and everyone turned to look at him, eyes wide. Merlin allowed himself a satisfied nod before glaring at them all. “We all have much larger problems than who bought the most shares off of whom. Balnar will go to your Dwarven Panel and you will tell them they are to redistribute twelve percent of their stocks to the Sidhe or I will shut down every weapons manufacturing plant from here to the North fucking Pole, and we all know that's the most successful factory you have. The warriors will make do with bloody rifles if that's what it takes. And the Elves will play nice with Sidhe unless they want me interfering with Internal Affairs. Or have they forgotten the last time I stepped in?”

Alnyth gulped, though his face betrayed no emotion. Merlin was just very good at reading their kind by now. “No, Hynafol. We have not.”

“Right then. Let's all continue playing nice, because the gods be with you if I hear one more trivial complaint about the market collapsing when all that's happened is the Centaurs have risen three percent more, I will _eviscerate_ every last one of you and bring a new Board, understood?” There was a tense moment when Merlin was sure they were all going to stand up and shout at him, but when Cluricaun the Leprechaun gave a low bow of deference, he knew he had won this battle. For now, at least.

“Excellent.” Merlin pushed back from the large oval table, stood up and buttoned the jacket of his ridiculous suit. “Gentlefolk, if you will excuse me, I have to training to oversee.”

It was a lie. What he had to oversee was a large bottle of brandy and a goddamned nap. Apparently, the universe hated him today for some reason, because when he walked into his office, he found the guest sofa occupied.

“Orkney,” Merlin snapped curtly. He shut and locked the door with a thought. “How can I help?” He strode to the cabinet on the far wall, the one where he kept his best brandy. He would definitely need it now.

“Come, Emrys, we are on more familiar terms than surnames. Or does calling me by my Original name really bother you that much?”

Merlin tipped the glass back and swallowed the three fingers of alcohol in one gulp. It was only after that did he send the other glass flying to his guest. “Have you come here to hassle me, Cysefin, or is there a purpose to this journey? Your sister cannot be best pleased.”

He stared at Merlin, frighteningly clear blue eyes boring into him. If Merlin had been anyone else, he would have flinched at the blank gaze. “Your Prince was attacked last night.”

Merlin snorted, poured himself some more of the burning drink. “No! Really? Tell me more, I beg you.” 

“His coming of age is nearing. _She_ will not rest until he is lying dead in a boat of wreaths floating to Avalon once more, you know this as well as I. But I can–”

“No,” Merlin interrupted him sharply. “I have said no once before. My answer hasn't changed. I. Do. Not. Trust. You.”

“Yet, you trust Alexandrina.” He tilted his head to one side as if he was contemplating an insurmountable problem. “What has she done to make you forgive her so?”

“Not threatened to defect, for one. Morgana's true loyalties have not been in question this time. The same cannot be said for you and your sister.”

“I cannot prove myself if you do not give me a chance, Emrys!” And there was the petulant little boy-man who had challenged Arthur on the battlefield a millennia and half ago.

And admonishment was on the tip of Merlin’s tongue. The need for his magic to snap and throw the boy out of his sixtieth-story window was immense, but he was hit with a mad, brilliant, perfect idea. “All right.”

“I – what?” The Hynafol’s answer had obviously thrown him off. “What is all right?”

Merlin walked over to his desk, his fingers tripping against the smooth wood. He placed a palm flat against the cool surface and sat down, the squishy leather molding to fit him. He steepled his fingers thoughtfully and said, “I will give you a chance to prove yourself.”

Mordred stood up straight, shoulders thrown back like the warrior he was.

Merlin smirked. This was going to be fun.

*****

There was indeed a new chauffeur for him that night, but he wasn't introduced as Gwaine. He was to be called James, apparently. Artie didn't see the two new guards, which meant they were probably doing their job well.

Artie led Lance out the front door. He had meant to confront Lance many times all day. He had had dozens of opportunities, and every time he had held back, some unknown force steering him away from demanding answers. Even now as he saw fucking ‘James’ open the door for him – God, he looked the same age as Artie – Artie ignored the itch to turn to Lance and give him a knowing look. Only the knowledge that Lance knew every nuance of Artie's expression, and would know something was up kept him from giving it away.

“Where to, sir?” James asked him from the driver's seat, and Artie had to clench his fist tightly to not react. Because that voice – it was the voice from by the pond. The one that taunted the weird creature, and baited Artie in one go. What was it Alexi had said? A Marchog. His bewilderment gave way to annoyance when he realized all of them – Lance, Alexi, and that nameless bastard who seemed to be in charge of all this – thought he was actually oblivious or dim enough to not fucking recognize ‘James’.

He let Lance tell him their destination, and ignored it when James flashed a grin in the rear view mirror. Artie knew he was acting childish, but that was about par for course as far as most people outside his family were concerned. He turned away from Lance too, continuing with his theme of petulance.

Lance only sighed and said something to Gwaine too softly for him to hear. Well, fine. If they were going to be like that. Artie rolled up the screen separating him from the two sitting up front. If he was going to endure being treated like a child, he was damn well going to play his part well.

Artie groaned under his breath when he saw the people assembled at the private dinner table Alexi had reserved for them. He wasn't the last there – that honor would now and forever lay with Alexi herself – but he was by no means the first one seated.

“Why are _they_ here?” Artie muttered to Lance. Then he remembered what the man said about Alexi's cousin and her dear brother, and resisted the urge to track him down and hit him. Hard. It wouldn't be so difficult to digest the notion that no one trusted him to know what was happening around him if he hadn't known they were making plans behind his back regarding his person. He had always been a strong proponent of the ‘ignorance is bliss’ mantra ever since he had seen his father and mother in bed together one innocent Sunday morning at the tender age of seven.

“Your cousin invited them, sir,” was Lance's quick reply. Artie just knew he was holding back his amusement.

“I'm sure she did.” Artie pasted on a bright smile as he neared the table. “What a surprise. I wasn't aware our Luxembourg cousins were visiting. Father would love to see you again.”

“Artie!” Alexi stood up, kissed him on both cheeks and hissed in a low, dangerous voice, “Play nice. They are _my_ guests.”

“Of course,” Artie whispered, his smile intact. “Hello Adred, Jase. How is Uncle Amstell? Well, I hope.”

Adred, as always, glared sulkily at Arthur with his eerie, clear blue eyes. For brother and sister, Adred and Jase couldn't look more dissimilar: Jase with her long blonde locks and hazel eyes; and Adred with dark hair, pale complexion, and sulky glare.

“Jase was just telling me Uncle Amstell planned on attending your birthday gala next week,” Alexi said smoothly before Jase could say something undoubtedly cutting.

“The prince’s coming of age,” Adred said somewhat ominously.

Artie couldn't hold back his chortle. The prince and princess of Luxembourg could be unnecessarily stiff at the oddest times. “Coming of age? Really? We just call them birthdays here, cousin.”

Adred snorted indelicately and glared some more. He managed not to completely forget his manners and sighed as Alexi and Jase ignored him in favor of their conversation before he had made a presence. Ignoring Artie was an art form both of them had cultivated over the years. 

“I am so sorry for my lateness. We're a little short staf – oh!” Artie looked up at their flustered waitress, and smiled when he noticed she was frozen in an awkward half-curtsy. 

Taking pity on the poor girl – and because Alexi was being uncharacteristically quiet – Artie excused her mistake with a dismissive wave. “It's all right. We could have waited a few more minutes...”

“Gwyneth, sir. Um, I mean Your Highness. Is it Your Highness I never know. I don't usually work the VIP room, but Andrew called in sick and there was no one else to do it. Not that I mind or anything. I just thought it would be some normal guests. That isn't to say you _aren't_ normal, of course. I was just. Ah – sorry, I'll just stop talking now. Sirs. And Madams! Can’t forget that. Uh.”

Gwyneth flushed when she noticed they were all staring at her. Artie was just amazed someone could speak so quickly without pausing for breath even once. But he was apparently the only one wondering about her super lungs. Everyone else – well, Artie wasn't quite sure how to interpret their expressions. Alexi mostly looked an odd mix of stunned and bewildered. Adred on the other hand looked more amused than the situation warranted, like he knew something no one else did. Jase just had her typical evil smirk stretched across her face.

In any case, their reactions seemed rather severe, considering it was just a waitress who happened to put her foot in her mouth too often.

Artie smiled at Gwyneth, trying to dissipate the awkwardness. “We'll be ready to order soon, thanks.”

“Um. Yes. Very good,” she stammered. “I'll be back soon.” She backed out of the room quickly, catching, Artie noticed, Lance's very much intrigued eye. He reminded himself to tease Lance about it mercilessly later.

The moment she left, Alexi pushed away from the table and excused herself. She walked out onto the patio adjoining the private room, pulled out her deep purple phone Artie had given her last Christmas. If Artie didn't know any better, he would have said Alexi looked unsettled. But this was Alexandrina, the girl who hadn't so much as shed a single drop of tear as they lowered her mother into the ground twelve years ago.

Whoever – and Artie was willing to bet his bloody crown that it was the man – she was speaking with didn't seem to have said anything reassuring to her.

His fist curled out of sight as he remembered ‘James’ sitting outside in the parking garage somewhere, lips twisted in that confident grin of his. The two new security personnel he wasn't supposed to know about; the shaken look on his father's face this morning; his cousins who obviously knew more than Arthur was comfortable with. And Lance. The knowledge that his best friend whom he had always trusted more than anyone was keeping something from him...

“All right?” Artie said in a soft voice anyway when Alexi took her seat at the table again.

“Of course. Perfectly fine. I just had an appointment to reschedule for tomorrow.” She had the same smile on her face as the one on the day of his mother's funeral.

Artie bit back a harsh exhale, and kept his irritation in check.

He wasn't yet sure how, but he was going to get some answers.

*****

Merlin stared at his phone until it told him Morgana had hung up.

Gwen was back, and he hadn't sensed her. There was no force on this Earth capable of achieving such a feat for almost two decades. But...there was always – No. He wouldn't dare.

He exhaled loudly, turned to the window.

It started raining.

Merlin's magic sensed Morgana’s presence in the building before he heard her footsteps outside his office. A thin tendril of power opened the door for her. He didn't much care for looking away from the polluted, orange skyline of London. He didn't know how much time had passed since she called to tell him about Gwen, but it had been long enough for her to finish her dinner with Mordred, Morgause, and Arthur.

“The meteorology department is probably frantic right now. We were supposed to have a drought until next month.”

Merlin waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. “They were getting bored anyhow.”

“I'm sure they were.” The voiced sounded amused. Then, “Do you remember,” Morgana said from beside the _secret_ drinks cabinet (damn her, that absinthe was for him), “what you said to me when you came to my house all those years ago to take me to the School? When I asked you why you couldn't tell me why I had to go to the School rather than any other pretentious place my father wanted to send me to?” She didn't wait for Merlin's answer. “‘All in good time,’ you said. You said so for years and years before letting me Remember. And you were right. I wouldn't have understood then. I wouldn't have known why it was important for me to have a second chance. Without you –”

“This is different, Morgana,” Merlin interrupted her, not being able to bear the thought of Morgana going on in this life with the same anger that had filled her all those generations ago.

Yet, he couldn't help comparing how while Morgana had needed redemption, Arthur needed... Merlin didn't yet know what Arthur needed but he had promised himself long ago he would stay away until it was time to let Arthur know. (Feared it may be too late.)

“No.” She was standing right next to him now. “I've forgiven myself for what happened then. I've forgiven you, and I've forgiven the circumstances that made me what I was. You gave me a chance to see something in me that I – that I never could have. Artie needs to realize the same, before he finds out about magic and destiny. He will always be great, Emrys, but you need to make him good. He can never do it without you.”

They were both quiet for a few moments.

When a particularly vicious bolt of lightning struck a building across the river, Morgana waved her palm and calmed the oncoming thunderstorm.

Merlin smirked. “I knew you were my best pupil for a reason.”

“Shut up, Em. I'll turn you into a toad, otherwise.”

It had the desired effect. He burst into a low chuckle. “I'd like to see you try.”

*****

 _Wednesday, June 15, 2031_.

Artie stayed awake that night after they came back home, waiting for Alexi to get back from wherever it was she went to meet the man. Perhaps he should be ashamed he had looked at her phone and read her texts, but he honestly could not give a fuck right now. Lance had gone to bed already, not that Artie needed a handler present in his own home. It was secure enough.

“Artie! I didn't see you there. What are you doing up so late?”

_That was the point_ , he didn't say. “I just wanted to stay up and thank you for inviting our dear cousins to live in my house during their visit. Because hotel suites are obviously not done.”

Artie could barely make out a smirk in the dim, orange street light. “They're family, Artie. Of course they'd stay here. I stay here when I visit.”

“That's because I actually like you during your more tolerable moments.”

“Mmm. High praise. Now, if you're done having a sulk.” She moved toward the stairs leading to her bedroom upstairs. She'd had the same room in Arthur's house since their university days.

“I know you like to believe I'm an idiot, Alexi –“

“Of course.”

He bit back a sigh at her not unexpected quip and continued,“But I'm not.”

“That is a debate neither of us wants to indulge in at this time of night, Artie.” She shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. “I'm really tired.”

“And I, Alexi, am tired of being lied to.” He stood up from his chair. He'd picked it out by himself when he had moved here from the palace, and replaced the dusty floral patterned predecessor.

He saw her spine stiffen, her hand clench the banister tightly until her knuckles turned white. “I have no–”

“I'm talking about my goddamned chauffeur being replaced in the middle of the day, Alexi! I'm talking about the fucking water creature he stopped the other night at the party. I'm talking about _Gwaine_ \-- oh, sorry, James -- and you and Lance being in on some grand secret I've yet to be privy to. This is me wanting to know the truth.”

She stared at him in shock, and Artie took a moment to feel triumphant.

“All right,” Alexi said, shoulders slumped in defeat. So she told him.

And Artie had never wanted to kill anyone as much as he did Hynafol Emrys.

*****

Merlin didn't so much as twitch when Morgana finally left, lips opened slightly in a sigh that never went past her mouth. Merlin knew she despaired over his decisions sometimes – especially the ones that concerned Arthur – but had learned to accept them most of the time.

He reached his magic out to stroke the air around him, feeling for the Portals.

The first one was useless: it allowed only the Elves, the secretive bastards. The second, third and fourth one were closed to him for until the end of this Century (he couldn't even remember what he had done to deserve being banned). While it might be nice to visit the Centaurs tonight, their Unicorn friends shared the same Portal and they hadn't been very welcoming to him since the twelfth century when a slip of tongue on his part had almost wiped them out. It was a shame, really, because the Centaurs were fun even on their worst day. A Portal for Merlin himself to go wherever he pleased and...ah. There. The seventh one was the one he was searching for.

Merlin wasn't a big fan of this mode of travel, if only because fifteen hundred years of powerful magic had made him a lazy fucker who couldn't be arsed to weed through the ever-shuffling gateways to find the right one. He rarely ever even used the one he'd specifically created for himself. One very memorable time, he'd had to go through two hundred thirty seven before he'd found the right one.

Merlin stepped into the swirling rainbow of colors, sighing heavily as the shining lights swallowed him.

“Kilgarrah!” He yelled into the perceived dark abyss that pressed oppressively against one's skin. Merlin, more than used to Kilgarrah's antics conjured a fierce glowing ball of light to shake away the shadows. “I know you're here. Stop pretending you have something better to do.”

This time, Kilgarrah had fashioned his home after the caves he had raised Aithusa in. From one of the long caverns, Merlin heard a rumbling, guttural chuckle. He saw the Great Dragon's glowing golden eyes before the rest of him followed. 

“What a spoilsport you've become, my warlock.”

“Why did you bring Gwen back?” Merlin demanded, ignoring Kilgarrah's remark. He wasn't well equipped to deal with the dragon's brand of humor – or what he perceived as humor – today.

“I have absolutely no idea what you could be referring to, Mer–”

“Don't!” Merlin held up a warning hand. “Just don't. I just need to know why. No one else could have made Freya give Gwen up. No force on earth, but you. So tell me, Kilgarrah, what purpose does Gwen serve this time around?”

Kilgarrah stared at him, those shining gold looking worldly and sad. Despite a fully resurrected race of dragons to keep him company, his loneliness never seemed to dissipate. (Or maybe Merlin was projecting again.)

“Normalcy, young warlock.”

“I haven't been young for a long time,” Merlin snapped. “And what do you mean normalcy?”

“The young prince will need someone grounded in the non-magical after this whole ordeal is done. You are incapable of giving him this. Always have been. The queen on the other hand–”

“Is as normal as they get,” Merlin drawled sarcastically, annoyed at Kilgarrah's interference. “Right. Well, thank you for that. No, really. Your logic, as always, is astoundingly sound.”

“Mer –“

“No!” He snapped, his voice echoing like a whip crack. “Just. No, Kilgarrah.”

He left without meeting Aithusa, ignored his soft, excited trill of _Merlin_! and though it hurt him, he shut his mind to Aithusa and opened the Portal.

He took a deep breath back in his office and wondered when he'd become such a big dick.

He looked at his phone, noticed he'd been gone for three hours and that he had more than twenty missed calls and a dozen voice mails from Morgana and Lancelot.

“Well, fuck,” he said to the fourth recording of Morgana's voice, and then responded in a time honored traditional fashion that had never failed him in the last thousand years or so.

He got wildly and uproariously drunk.

“And – and the besssht paht 'bout this is – she didn't even tell him everything. Which is good! I think so anyway. Ish s'posed to be guh-ood right? Right?”

The bottle didn't answer him. It was a very rude bottle, Merlin surmised, and he didn't much care for rude things, so he shoved it off the table and took great pleasure in the thud and crack of the glass shattering into a hundred different pieces. He then summoned another hidden bottle from the depths of his office: absinthe this time.

He loved the shiny green-ness of it; it greatly soothed him and made him remember the nineteenth century when absinthe had been his best friend.

There used to be a time when he hadn't been this pathetic, he was sure.

He wracked his brain trying to remember such a time and gave up when the number didn't present itself to him.

What did present itself was the image of Arthur. Young, livid, desperately curious Arthur who didn't know the full story even now because Morgana wasn't that stupid. She hadn't let him Remember or told him the Original names of any of them, nor had she told him the truth about that night a decade ago. She had told him about her magic though, and Merlin didn't envy being her for that particular moment.

It seemed he was doomed to never be the one who told Arthur the truth about himself. He would be more upset, but the absinthe did a damn good job about making him feel better... at least for now.

When Merlin woke up the next morning, it was with a severe pounding headache. If he had been anyone else, he would probably be dead by alcohol poisoning. Ever the unlucky one, he just had drums thumping on the inside of his head, but he was able to calm the incessant pain with a tendril of magic and some painkillers.

Then it all came back in a rush: his meeting with Kilgarrah; the messages from Morgana and Lancelot; the reason he almost (but not really, because it was impossible) killed himself.

Soon after that followed the thought that if anyone was going to be killed today, it was obviously the two of them.

Yet again, he wasn't that lucky. Because the universe hated Merlin and this was its way of saying ‘fuck you, you blasphemous immortal.’ Or something like that.

His Rhyfylwr knocked on the door tentatively – somehow already aware of Merlin's dark mood.

“Sir,” she said, “good morning.” She came in, expertly sidestepping the broken glass, set the tray of coffee and paper mail on his cluttered desk. Although the paper mail didn't register until he had had three gulps of caffeine. He stared at it, understandably baffled since no one sent paper mail anymore. This was the third decade of the twenty first century for fuck's sake.

It was a smallish scroll of fake parchment.

“Um. What?”

“Dewin Analise screened it first, sir,” Rhyfylwr Cara said, brown eyes trained to stare three inches to the right and over his shoulder.

“That's reassuring,” he muttered, his sarcasm obvious. But Cara, ever the professional, didn't so much as bat an eyelash at his unkind tone.

“I can have Anfarwol Iseldir look at it if you wish, sir.”

Merlin sighed, secure in the knowledge that he would be able to take care of himself in case of any unwanted occurrence, and dismissed Cara.

He picked up the maroon invitation and turned it over, sighed at the ornate, deep gold lettering etched in with magic. He brought it closer to his face and sniffed it for traces of Dark Magic. Nothing. He let go of the perfectly square invitation so that it was suspended in air with just his magic for support and opened it, making sure to keep it as far as possible from his face. It wouldn't do any permanent damage, but getting rid of whatever silly tricks the envelope was laced with would still be tedious.

It read:

_My Dear Hynafol_ ,  
 _You are cordially invited to Draig Twr_.  
 _You know when to come._

Sincerely,  
M.

 

“Of course,” he said to the empty room.

Of course, the first time he got handwritten mail in over a half a century, it would be from the one person he wanted to avoid at all costs.

*****

Artie stared at a blank stretch of wall. His mother's old office had always soothed him, and it didn't fail him this time. This was the only room in the palace that Artie himself had a hand in decorating. Igraine had said she never wanted Artie to feel unwelcome here, and he never had. Uther had locked off the room with strict orders that no one was to enter the late Queen's study. Artie, never one to take his father's word as law, had found a way around it. There was always that one security personnel who never had qualms teaching the young prince how to pick a lock.

“Artie?”

Artie straightened with a snap, his spine cracking as he swiftly turned to look at his father standing there in the doorway. Shit. Had he forgotten to close the door properly after him? He hadn't been this careless in years. Granted, he had much on his mind after the bombshell Alexi had dropped on him.

“Father, I – ” He jumped off the chair and rounded to the front of the desk. “I was just...” He trailed off when no excuse was forthcoming.

Uther raised a palm. He didn't look angry, but just tired. “It's fine. I often come here to think when my own office begins to stifle me. Would you like to have a drink with me?” Artie hadn't even noticed the bottle of cognac in his father's hand.

“Oh. Yes.”

He watched as Uther walked toward the two arm chairs placed by the cold, empty fireplace. He stood, fascinated when Uther carefully placed the brandy on the side table and got down on his knees to stack the firewood from the shelf right next to it. It was such a domestic act, but Artie had never, ever seen anything like it. He hadn't known it was possible for Uther to be anything other than perfect, yet the soot gathering on his fingers and sleeves told a different story.

“Could you get the glasses from the cabinet? They were your mother's favorite.”

Artie did as asked. He didn't remind his father it was only three in the afternoon, and that it probably wasn't done to be drinking in the middle of the day. But it had been a long twelve hours since Alexi told him about Emrys and his hidden army of magical protectors.

He remembered where his mother kept her most loved crystal snifters well. Before she died, every night he would sit across his mother in one of the armchairs and stare as she poured a drink for herself and a glass of milk for him. 'When you are older,' she would say, 'we'll have Mummy's drink together, darling.' He had wanted nothing more than to grow up and be a big boy so he could drink properly with his mother.

Artie came back with Igraine's favorite crystal snifters and set them by the bottle. Uther shuffled back to dust the soot off him, rose gracefully to his feet and smiled at Arthur and poured them both generous glassfuls. 

Artie waited a beat, watched sadly as Uther's eyes skittered away from the family portraits lining the wall. His own, Artie knew, were very barren of any sentiment that might remind him of his long dead wife.

“Who was the man yesterday morning, Father?” Had it really been just yesterday morning? It felt so much longer.

“She told you.” It wasn't a question, just like everything else Uther said. It was stated as a fact accepted universally and by none more than Uther himself. If anyone disagreed with him, then they would simply have to come around to accepting it themselves.

“She kept some things out, I am sure. But yes, I know.”

Uther looked terrifyingly old in that moment, and Artie wished he could take his question back. Shove the words back in his mouth and make it so that Uther never looked at him with that expression again, but it was too late. “Hynafol Emrys,” Uther said sombrely, fingers playing with the rim of his glass, “is the best and most dangerous man you will ever have the good misfortune to meet, Artie.” That was such a round about description, Artie wasn't sure what to take away from that.

Uther was already getting up, brandy abandoned. He reached over and clapped a hand to Artie's shoulder. “Just...be careful, Artie. There are some things even I cannot protect you from, not matter how much I have tried, and Emrys is one such thing.”

“Father – ”

“It's going to be a long few days, Artie.”

*****

The sky was already darkening; the horizon a deep blood red when the Portal opened right in front of the heavy oak door of Draig Twr. The castle looked the same as it always did: archaic, crumbling facade at first glance, but past the glamor it was a gorgeous, magically reinforced stone fortress that looked just as it had when he had constructed it from the ground up with nothing but his magic seven centuries ago.

It was a fitting location, Merlin had to admit. He pushed through the heavy door without opening it.

“Draig Twr, Mab? You couldn't have found a more cliched location, honestly.”

“Oh, hush. You adore my dramatics, really. Why else would you put up with poor, despicably evil, old me?” She pouted exaggeratedly, her moss green eyes glittering with a malice Merlin still had trouble tracing the origin of.

“I did. Until I realized what a spoiled infant you had become; how your games were hurting those around you – hurting your brothers and sisters, hurting me.”

“Well...every God needs a Lucifer, my Hynafol.”

“You always were one for the over-dramatic, Mab.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder, smirked in a way that was too familiar to him. “Mostly I am just so bored of waiting. Why wait till next week when I can send my present to your prince early?”

“What have you done?” Merlin demanded, immediate terror slithering down his spine. Thunder clapped against the rooftop, shaking the entire foundation of the castle. If it was something more dangerous than that silly naiad...he wouldn't risk sending just anyone this time, no matter how much he trusted them. “Tell me!” 

Mab's lips curled into a petulant pout and her blue eyes glittered maliciously. “You're no fun anymore, Em.” She tap-danced her fingers against the arm of the chair. “I heard your pet Cysefin told the prince about his _Destiny_. How did he take it? Well, from the stories it could not have been that well. Or do you not know.” He kept a blank face, but Mab had known him a long time just as he had known her all her lives. There was very little that could slip past the other when either of them were concerned.

“Mab.” He took a steady step forward, flexed his fingers as if he would do something so mundane as strike at her physically.

“Please, it's just a little teaser, nothing too harmful. The Lethifold knows not to hurt him. Well, the first one, at least. I can't really speak for the whole family.”

“Lethifold.” Merlin sneered at her, quaking with anger he couldn't – wouldn't – release and hurled his excess energy at the walls of the stupid castle. Mab sneered back at him looked perfectly triumphant and content with her actions. Merlin wasn't sure why it was this moment he realized there was nothing he could say anymore that would change everything that had passed between them. “When,” he asked instead, voice calm and under control once more, “did you send that heinous creature, Mab?”

“Oh, only just, when you arrived by Portal.” Mab said, voice saccharine and honey-like, her words spiked with a sharp jab of magic that sent him crashing into the farthest wall.

The crash did nothing but knock the breath out of him. He got back up, and winced when a sharp pain lanced up his spine. It was very possible he had a broken rib. Or two. Definitely two. “Fuck.”

“Come now, you don't want to waste time fruitlessly fighting me. What use will it be if the Lethifold gets its way.”

She was right. He knew she was right, so without further delay, he stood up, ignored the feeling of cracked bone digging into his lungs. “Mab...” But saying anything more would only needlessly delay, and Arthur mattered more at the moment.

He didn't spare his limited breath on a parting note, although she looked very smug with herself as the Portal blurred her features.

*****

Artie woke up shivering and clammy and unable to breathe easily. His windpipe felt – and he hadn't even known he could feel his bloody windpipe – was being squeezed tightly. It was as if someone had managed to bypass his skin and bones and was holding onto just the long trachea, pinching it shut while a creeping cold darkness took over him.

It was a familiar feeling, although he couldn't, for the life of him, remember or fathom why.

“Ah!” Artie gasped, which was a big mistake seeing how whatever little air he had was gone. He flailed despite the knowledge that it would help very little. He felt so, so cold, as if was wrapped in a blanket of ice.

Who – what – ever was attacking him was not a real person, at least not physically. There was nothing Artie could grab onto to push against the force pressing against him. This was it, he told himself, this was how he was going to die: in the dark, killed by something he couldn't even feel, much less see. That goddamned water creature was starting to look like a better prospect all of a sudden. He stopped moving his arms and legs around gormlessly. What was the point when he knew and accepted he was going to die? 

The last thought made Artie angry at himself. He wasn’t some helpless idiot who couldn’t take care of himself. Wasn’t that what he had been trying to tell Alexi earlier? He scrambled for purchase and tried to shove against his assailant. He might die right now, but he would be damned if he was going to without a fight. Whatever that was strangling the life out of him was not solid, and fighting against it didn’t really accomplish anything. 

His eyes were unfocused and he was lightheaded from lack of oxygen. If it hadn't been so dark, he could probably be able to tell that he was blacking out, but it didn't make much of a difference, really. Black was black. 

Someone really hated him, because just as he had resigned himself to his death and the darkness that came with it, bright, too-luminescent white light flooded the room, burning his pupils.

“Argh!” He screamed very much unlike a three year old crying for ice cream, and clapped his hands over his eyes. It didn't stop them from hurting like a motherfucker. And then, just like that, the pressure was gone from his windpipe, and air was rushing to his starved lungs. 

He still wasn't brave enough to open his eyes again, but he was aware enough his surroundings to know whatever vile presence had been trying to choke him was gone, and the room was far from empty.

The door banged open. He heard Jase and Adred frantically talking over one another. A cold, firm hand was touching him, his forehead, his wrists.

“Artie, darling, open your eyes. Slowly.” Alexi's calm, firm voice was an anchor to his pain, and he did as he was told, fluttering his eyes open millimeter by painful millimeter, still afraid that the room might be bathed in that terrifying white light. It wasn't. The room was illuminated by the soft glow of his bedside table. He sighed, rejoicing in the involuntary action of breathing. He would never take it for granted ever again. Alexi gave him a knowing look. “Better?”

“Much,” he coughed out, voice raspy. “Wah – ter.” A glass was shoved under his nose immediately. He looked up at Adred, surprised. “Uh...thanks.”

Adred blinked his wide baby blues, expression not wavering from his blank stare one bit. “It isn't me who saved you from the Lethifold.”

“The what? Nevermind. Who did?” Alexi shuffled to left, closer to the foot of his bed.

“Hello, Arthur.”

Artie froze even as Alexi's vice like grip bit into his wrist. Because there, standing not five feet in front of him, was the man.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Here I was under the impression all royals had been raised to be grateful.”

_Fuck you_. Except he couldn't say that, could he? He gulped, decided he didn't care, and said, “Fuck. you,” anyway.

The man’s lips twitched, like this was so fucking funny for him – like Arthur hadn't been going out of his mind trying to figure him out. Like Artie hadn't wanted to track him down and question him mercilessly ever since Alexi told him he was some sort of magical bodyguard who had been looking out for him all his life. Fucking asshole. Arthur looked at him, really looked from head to toe. He was still dressed in a tailored suit, and he was still wearing those black gloves – in the middle of bloody June – but he was different somehow. Arthur wasn't quite sure what it was about him though.

“Artie,” Alexi reprimanded, fingers beating out a rhythmic staccato against his skin. If he didn't know her, he would say she was nervous, but the heir and princess of the Dutch Royal House had never shown herself to be nervous, and he didn't think she was going to start now.

“He cannot stay here anymore,” he – Emrys, Alexi had told him earlier that his name was Emrys – spoke to Alexi, acting for all the world like Artie had not spoken at all. “I've made arrangements – ”

“I'm not going anywhere with _you _!” Artie blurted, clutching at his sheets, because somehow, against all odds, the sheets would keep Emrys at bay. Really, they would.__

Emrys glanced at him, a vaguely exasperated look flashed across his face. Either way, at least it was a reaction of some sort, instead of that constant tried patience his features seemed to default to. “If you stay here, there is more than one of Lethifold capable of finishing the job, and I cannot allow that.”

“Who the bloody hell are you, allowing me to do something?” Artie sneered, feeling particularly petulant. He was tired and cold and he still couldn't help think he'd seen the damn Lethifold somewhere before.

“You have,” Adred said abruptly, startling Artie out of his uncharitable thoughts.

“What.”

“You have seen the Lethifold before when – ”

“Unimportant,” Emrys said, and oh did he look annoyed. “Get up, now,” he snapped, a little like someone who had gotten his way many times in his life.

“Artie, listen to him,” Alexi pleaded with him, her brow furrowed with worry.

It was only because she asked, he assured himself. Only because it was Alexi and she was more than just his cousin and if she looked worried then, well...shit had obviously hit the proverbial fan.

He let go of his death grip on the sheets and nodded.

“Good boy,” Emrys said, and Artie had to resist the urge to fist his fingers and punch that smug face.

*****

Emrys' house was nothing like Artie had imagined. He had expected a posh place somewhere in Central London maybe, glass walls overlooking the Thames and all that.

It wasn't.

Artie glanced over his shoulder at the threshold, silently pleading Lance not to leave him alone with this man, but Lance, the bastard who was completely and utterly fired once all this blew over, just shook his head and tilted it, silently commanding Arthur to go in.

It was a simple duplex in Kentish Town, with an office and another room that was presumably his bedroom. In here Emrys didn't seem as untouchable, which made little sense. The foyer was a small thing, only four feet all around, and to his right was the staircase. There were dozens of books scattered all around, even though he did have shelves that were left unused. Emrys led them through the living room, past the kitchen to a small bar area sectioned off in the back.

Artie accepted the drink Emrys handed him, but didn't so much as sip it. He trusted him as far as he could throw him. There was an awkward silence where Emrys drank his rum and stared at Artie. Artie searched the room for a distraction, but when he didn't find one he said, “We've met before.”

It had been bothering him since he first saw Emrys. That weird pit of familiarity at the base of his spine. And that Lethifold, whatever the hell it was, brought the hazy, dulled-with-time memory to the fore front.

“Yes,” Emrys said with a small smile, like it was a point of pride for him that Artie remembered.

“The day my mother died. You were there. You tried to save her from... from whatever that was. But – how? I didn't even remember you until an hour ago.”

Emrys took a fortifying sip, set his glass on the side table and leaned forward. The firelight cast a dark shadow over him in such a way that it made Artie shiver. “Memories, like everything in our world, are non-linear non-exact in their nature. Sometimes we suppress certain memories for years until something makes them – ” A snap of his fingers. “– click. You pushed away most memories of the night your mother died. Only natural, of course, given the traumatic nature of the event. But you forgot me along with what really happened to Igraine Pendragon that night. You thought it was a freak medical condition just like the rest of the world, but... well you know better now.”

“It was a Lethifold, wasn't it? The same kind that attacked me?”

“An older one. The oldest and most powerful of them all. It – well, you saw what it did. Felt it tonight.”

He was right. Artie didn't need a visual painted for him. Now that he had remembered, he didn't think he'd ever be able to forget the oppressive coldness of his mother's rooms, how the hateful creature had bent over and reached inside, turning him cold and helpless.

If had always haunted him, not knowing what it was that took his mother from him. He had always believed it was because he had been too young, and his father never spoke of that night so he had believed what the rest of the world did. But to know the truth now, after all this time, and to have felt the way his mother did in her last few moments made a different kind of coldness seep through him. 

Deciding it was easier to ease away from the topic, Artie asked, “So is this the safe house then?” Whatever it was, he couldn't wait for Alexi to be here. She had told him she would tell Uther about what had happened and meet them here.

“Gods no. This is one of the safest houses in the country, but not the best place for a large party.” Emrys chuckled, placed the glass down. “We're just passing through.”

“For what?”

Emrys, surprise of surprises, didn't tell him. “Wait here. And don't touch anything.”

Arthur nodded his head once, twice, waited until Emrys had disappeared up the stairs before jumping from his seat, glass abandoned, and looked around covertly, because princes didn't snoop.

If he had expected to learn anything about Emrys from his endless shelves of books, he was sorely disappointed. All he really found out was Emrys was a hoarder of ancient looking tomes.

Although...he remembered his conversation with Alexi, remembered that faraway look she had gotten when she told him –

“He's ancient, Artie. He's so old, so tired, and so alone. Time's taken away very many things from him. When I see him now I want to – but you can, Artie. You can restore his faith and give him hope and bring him back to us. It's your destiny.”

“How ancient?” he had asked, but Alexi only said, “Ancient enough,” which wasn't much of an answer.

Now Artie might have an idea, judging by the book he was holding. The inked numbers dated it all the way back to the fifth century. The front door opened behind him. Artie jumped and hastily tried to put away one of the books back in its place.

“What are you doing?”

“Jesus, Alexi, you scared the shit out of me.”

“You shouldn't be looking at that,” she pointed out, ignoring him as always. “Where's Em?”

Artie waved a hand at the stairs. “Went to get something.”

“Hmm.” She looked around the flat with the air of someone who hadn't been here in a long time and perched herself on the arm of the sofa. “This place hasn't changed one bit.”

“You've been here,” Artie said, unsurprised. Of course she had been here in the near decade or so she'd apparently known Emrys. They seemed very close, and the way Alexi spoke about him yesterday made Artie wonder...

“Yes.” She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Artie. “Nothing like that, stupid. Christ. He's like a very weird uncle to all of us most of the time. In fact, I think Gwaine used to call him Uncle Em for a while. That got awkward though.” She coughed, trying to dispel the laughter bubbling just underneath the calm exterior.

Artie knew how she felt. It had been the kind of night to induce hysterical laughter. “How did Father take the news?”

Alexi sobered up immediately. “Very well, actually. Like he almost expected it. He has people protecting him. Don’t worry.” Artie thought back to Uther's warning words the day before and nodded. “Listen Artie, before he comes back. You need to know some basics.”

He looked at her unwavering eyes and felt his stomach clench at the thought of more unwanted announcements. It wasn't that, however. It was a set of ludicrous appropriate etiquette guidelines.

“Wait. So, you're telling me I am not allowed to touch him on bare skin? Do you touch him?”

“No.”

“Blimey, he doesn't get laid very often does he? That might explain a lot.” He grinned when Alexi glared at him. “Kidding! Just kidding. So that's why he wears those ridiculous gloves all the time.”

“I mean it, Artie. It's the one rule. You don't touch him unless he touches you first.”

Artie put his hands up, palms out. “No touching. Got it. Any other rules his pretentious arse demands?”

“Yes.” Artie winced at Emrys's amused tone of voice. When had he come down? Honestly, the man was a bloody ninja. “Not calling him a pretentious arse is one of them. Hello Morgana. How is Uther?”

“Fine. I've left Niniane with him.” Alexi grinned at Emrys sharing some sort of inside joke and Emrys grinned back. Arthur scowled, absolutely not noticing how his face actually looked human when he showed any emotion other than his blank stare. “Are we ready, Em?”

“All set.” Emrys walked to the front door without so much as sparing a glance to Artie. “How many?”

Gwaine was standing right outside, hands tucked into his jeans pockets. “Seven, including you and the Prince. Few are already waiting for us there.” 

“Artie,” he cut across even though there was no immediate reason. He just hated it when people called him the prince. Like that was all he was, a title. “Call me Artie, Gwaine.”

Gwaine grinned at him, held out his hand for Artie to shake. “Pleased to meet you for real, _Artie_.”

“If you two are done making eyes at each other?” Artie blushed at Alexi's remark, he spluttered when Gwaine laughed uproariously and wondered just what it was that he found so extremely hilarious.

He didn't get to ask, because while they were talking, Emrys had stepped past them to the middle of his lawn. His eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration. Artie stood frozen, curious, but too afraid of breaking the moment to ask Alexi what he was doing. The answer became clear when the air in front of Emrys rippled like a recently upset pool of water. Artie caught a glint of gold when his eyes fluttered open, his momentary peaceful expression gone.

“Alexi,” he whispered when he was close enough. “Who are they?” He was talking about the two other people joining their party to whatever place Emrys had in mind.

“Your protection,” Alexi said, “Now pay attention.” She grabbed onto his hand and directed him toward the swirling mass of air.

“It's a Portal,” she explained unnecessarily. It was quite obvious when he looked up and the geography had changed.

Gone was the orange city skyline and the rows upon rows of houses and cars. There was nothing but flat grass for miles, with a few trees here and there breaking the blandness.

They were quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

Artie couldn't help but turn his nose up at it. “Are we going to make camp?”

“Not to worry, Your Highness. You won't be subjected to that kind of drudgery.”

Artie scowled at Emrys. “That isn't what I meant.”

He was ignored. “We should be safe here. At least for a few hours.”

_In the open field_? Artie didn't say. He was no expert, but he was pretty sure if he wanted to lay low and away from prying eyes who wanted him harmed, flat grasslands were the last place they should be.

Alexi, who always had an uncanny knack for reading Artie's mind, smiled at him and pointed upwards. “Just watch.”

So he did, thoroughly baffled when all he saw were bright clusters of stars. The kind one didn't often see in the cities. Suddenly, one of the stars burned so bright Artie had to avert his eyes. When he opened them again, he worked very hard not to gape.

Because standing in front of him was an imposing three storey house that looked like it had always been there. It hadn't. Artie knew it hadn't, but he sure as hell wasn't going to make a fool of himself and look impressed. He really wasn't. It wasn't even a nice house.

It was old and decrepit and looked like it was in desperate need of a few fix ups. Artie wasn't even sure it had running water. He said as much to Alexi, but it was Emrys who rolled his eyes and told him to just get in. The inside wasn't much different really. The staircase had a few loose floorboards and the banister was missing in some places. The carpet was splotchy and mold-infested in some parts. He had difficulty imagining anyone living here, much less using it has a decent hideout.

“Lancelot and Hanna, cover all the exits here. Gwaine, Jonah, you two take the third floor and make sure nothing gets down here. Morgana and I will stay with Arthur.” Emrys nodded to Artie as he said the last and then motioned for both him and Alexi to follow him into the kitchen. They took a door on the far side down into a basement that looked like it had come straight out of a horror movie. “We'll have reinforcements within the hour, but in case we are attacked before then –” Emrys flicked on the lights and this time Artie did gape.

Sitting in the basement were about fifty cars, all ranging in size, make, and model. The oldest one looked to be an original black Ford from the twenties and the newest was a fast racing car that Artie wasn't familiar with, having never been particularly obsessed with cars as some of the other boys he knew.

“Hobby, is it?” Artie said when he found his voice again, because hell, he may not have cared much about cars but he knew how to appreciate beauty when he saw it.

“Something like that.” A flash of genuine fondness flickerd across Emrys' face before he returned to his usual surly self. “Should someone come down the stairs, we leave immediately and without hesitation.”

“Will someone please tell me what – or who – is so keen of wanting me dead?”

Emrys opened his mouth to say something, but Alexi beat him to it. “Mab. A rogue member of the Order who defected in the late 1800s – ”

“The late what?” Artie said, wanting clarification. “I thought you were the only freakishly immortal being around here.”

“I am.” Emrys nodded uncomfortably. “But there are different types of – that isn't important at the moment. The point is, she is hell-bent on killing you and won't stop until she has achieved what she wants.”

“Why wait till now?” Artie asked. “Why wait until I was old enough to know what was happening?”

“Because she made a deal.”

“A deal with who?” Neither of them answered him, so he asked the question again, louder this time.

And then, the whole house shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave your thoughts at my LJ masterpost [here!](http://phandomoftheowl.livejournal.com/3865.html)=D


	3. Part Two

“Get in the car!” Artie heard Emrys yell just as the rafters above them shook violently.

The whole house was collapsing around them.

“I thought you said this place was secure!” Artie accused, ignoring the way Emrys manhandled him to the passenger side of one of the sleek sports cars.

Emrys glared at him over the hood of one of his pretty cars. “Shut up and get in the fucking car.”

“Asshole,” Artie muttered and turned to Alexi. “Come on.”

Alexi, to his horror, stepped away from him, shaking her head. “You have to go with him. Stay safe. I'll try and hold them off.”

“What? Don't be stupid,” Artie said, desperate to have her with him. Lance was up there, injured or worse and his only other friend in the world wanted to stay behind. He wouldn't allow it. “Alexi, please.”

Alexi only smiled at him, sad and knowing. “I'm sorry, my prince,” she said and then her eyes flashed a deep forest green and heavy planks of wood barricaded him from her.

“ALEXI!” He scrambled at the thick wood, scratched it to find a way to the other side. “No, no, no, no. Please. Please. Don't be such a – Alexi, you bitch, I – ”

Emrys was behind him now, pulling at him, soft leathery palms inching him toward the blasted car, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered because Alexi was on the other side and he could hear yells and what if she – she was – he couldn't even let the thought take hold, because there was a high chance it might become a reality.

“Let go, Arthur. There's nothing you can do. Arthur! Arthur, listen to me, listen. We. Have. To. Go. Now.”

Emrys shoved him brusquely head first into the car and fumbled in the console. He pulled out a little remote that opened a wall in the basement. “Hold tight,” he warned before crashing through the other cars and debris with a pained grimace. Artie thought he heard the words, “Sorry, my babies.”

Artie sat back in his seat and glared out the tinted window. His hands shook with unbridled rage and he turned to glare at Emrys.

“How could you leave her there? How could you – God, you absolute _shit head_. Do you even give a damn that you left her to her death? You don't! You – ” Artie wanted to punch him. He wanted to just reach over and pummel Emrys’ stupid, smug face, not caring that they were in a car going much too fast.

And so, Artie did just that. He pulled back his arm awkwardly in the squat sports car and his fist connected with Emrys' jaw and nose. The car swerved dangerously. Emrys hastily slammed on the breaks and they came to a screeching halt only three feet away from a wide tree.

“What the fuck!” Except his nose was bleeding and he has his mouth covered so it came out more muffled and mostly just “Wha da fuuuu!”

Artie didn't want to hear a word of what he had to say though, so he just readied for another punch. Emrys saw it coming this time and threw himself back; his skull connected with the window with a loud crack.

“Ow, fucking shit.” Emrys scrabbled out of the car. Artie followed suit. “Arthur, what the hell? We could have crashed. You could have died!”

He wanted to scream. Things like 'shut up. Shut up. Just SHUT. UP! Alexi is back there, probably bleeding into those pathetic floorboards. I don't give a flying fuck if we crash’ – but hitting him felt too good, so he decided to do more of that instead. Artie launched himself at Emrys with a manic cry. If Lance were to see him right now, he would probably criticize his technique, but Lance was back in that house too – lying hurt or dead – and the thought only spurred him into landing as many blows as he could on the unresponsive body under him. And that was when Artie realized that Emrys wasn't moving. He was lying utterly still, not retaliating to a single one of Artie's blows.

“Wh – why aren't you fighting back?” And oh God, he was sobbing in front of the man now. Big, fat, pathetic tears. A few dropped onto Emrys' shirt, mingling with the blood and sweat. He wiped at the tears on his face with his bloody knuckles, leaving a trail of dirt and who knew what else.

“Because I'll heal.”

Artie didn't respond. He just sat there, straddling Emrys, one hand curled around his collar, and the other still wiping at his face fruitlessly. The humiliation of Emrys seeing him so broken wouldn't go away any time soon. Eventually, he crawled off and leaned against the car, knees tucked under his chin and face hidden away. The tears wouldn't stop. He heard a rustle that was Emrys standing up and cleaning himself off. The next moment there was a warm palm covering his neck.

“I cannot promise she's alive, that any of them are safe. But I can promise that she stayed behind for you, so you could escape. Not so you could crash into a tree forty yards away from the house where she was fighting for both your life and hers.”

Artie took a deep, shuddering breath. He was nowhere near ready to forgive Emrys, but Artie would take his words for the apology they were. Artie pushed off the ground, ignoring Emrys' helping hand, and got back in the car.

*****

Merlin glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. They had been driving for almost three hours and he had yet to say a word since they started driving again. He could see the tightly coiled tendons in Arthur's neck and he stared out the window, face an angry visage. He thought if maybe this had been a thousand and some odd years ago, Merlin would have reached over and nudged at Arthur's into good humor. It wasn't, however, and he wasn't the boy he had been then and Arthur wasn't the noble King Arthur anymore. They were both different and maybe not for the better, he reckoned.

He thought back on this last week and wondered where it had all gone horribly wrong. They were running away from one of the safest houses Merlin could think of and that begged the question: how and Mab found them out? The fact that she had somehow managed to penetrate _his_ magical wards proved that she was getting stronger or had more sorcerers on her side than Merlin had been previously aware of. But they had attacked fairly quickly. Merlin and the others had been there only a few minutes when they heard the sounds of a fight. There was no way they could have known where they were so quickly unless... Unless someone told them.

Unless they were already waiting at the safe house, hiding, prepared to attack at the first opportunity. Merlin did not want to believe it. He trusted every single one of the men and women he had handpicked to be around Arthur. He had chosen them because he knew they would never betray him to Mab. Except Morgause and Mordred, but neither of them knew where Merlin had been taking Arthur, so either it was a different person entirely, a person who had been part of Arthur's guard, or Merlin's magic was failing him. He didn't know which option was less appealing.

At least he knew he could combat one of them.

He pressed down hard on the accelerator and gave the car a little magical push.

*****

  


Artie blinked blearily in the early morning sunlight. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep. Emrys was already outside by the petrol station, sliding his card through the machine. He walked around to the drivers side of the car and noticed Artie looking at him.

 

“Oh, hello. Hungry? There's a small waffle place a few miles down the motorway here.”

 

Artie wanted to say no, but his traitorous rumbling stomach gave him away. He glared at Emrys and snapped, “Apparently.”

 

“Where are we?” he asked after they ordered and the waitress had set twin cups of delicious smelling coffee in front of them.

 

Emrys had put some sort of spell on his face to make him less noticeable. Artie still couldn't put off the paranoid feeling that he was being watched.

 

The coffee was putting him in a better mood and Emrys looked visibly relieved Artie wasn't going to off at him about last night. He wanted to though, oh how he wanted to rage and storm at Emrys and blame him for leaving Lance and Alexi behind. But there was nothing he or Emrys could have done, nothing Artie would have been able to change.

 

“We are about an hour or so away from my school. Non-magical travel is safest for the moment. Mab won't be expecting it.”

 

Artie nodded, pretending he understood what that meant. “What are we doing there?”

 

“Hitching a ride.” Emrys smiled like he thought he was being clever. At Artie's unamused expression, he cleared his throat and spoke more somberly. “There are some portals I cannot open without help. The wards at my school give me the extra boost I need.”

 

“Huh,” Artie said.“Guess you aren't all omnipotent and shit.”

 

Artie wasn't sure what he expected when Emrys said 'my school', but it certainly wasn't a medieval castle surrounded by a sprawling estate that would put half the royal families of Europe to shame.

 

“Wow.” Artie whistled. “You've brought me to fucking Hogwarts.”

 

Emrys grinned. “Well.”

 

“What?”

 

“Jo did like her English class quite a bit.”

 

Artie's jaw dropped. He didn't know whether Emrys was just pulling his leg or was actually serious. “Bull. Shit. This isn't Hogwarts and you are a lying liar who lies like a fucking rug.”

 

Emrys quirked an eyebrow at him. “ _Right_. Come on. It's too early for anyone to be up yet so this shouldn't take long.”

 

Whether it was true or not, this school certainly felt like something out of a book. There were gargoyles on towers and stone busts of ancient, important looking men and women. In the atrium was a large stone dais with a dragon's head in the middle. Standing in front of it was a figurine of a man that closely resembled Emrys. Surrounding them were thirteen smaller figures dressed in a robes decorated by the same sigil on their chests. It was a circle with a knotted letter A intertwined with a W.

 

“Keep up!”

 

Artie looked away from the dais and hurried after Emrys. The school seemed to go on forever and eventually, Artie lost track of where they ever were or how they had gotten there. Emrys had been right about not running into anyone. The whole school was silent.

 

“No, this way Arthur, honestly. I said left.”

 

The passage they turned down was so narrow they could barely fit side by side. But Artie refused to walk behind Emrys, follow him around like some sort of puppy.

 

“Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked Emrys, falling quickly into step next to him. He was careful not to let his arm brush what little bare skin he could see. He still didn't understand why it was taboo, but he didn't want to risk infuriating Emrys further just because he hadn't followed one simple rule.

 

“Why do I call you what?” he asked, eyes glinting in amusement.

 

Artie frowned and bit back a retort. “Arthur.”

 

“That is your name, is it not?”

 

“One of them, yeah.”

 

There was silence from his companion. The only sounds were of their footsteps hitting the cool pavement. They turned into another smaller passageway Artie probably wouldn't have even noticed if Emrys wasn't dragging him down it. This time he had no choice but to walk behind him.

 

“Why do you let everyone call you Artie?” His tongue curled around Artie as if it was some filthy word one oughtn't utter in polite society.

 

“It's what my mother called me. I guess it just...stuck.”

 

“There you go then,” he said as if that was some sort of answer. Artie rolled his eyes. He wanted to protest but Emrys stopped abruptly in an alcove. “Here we are.”

 

He watched, confused and wide-eyed as Emrys raised his palm and laid it flat against the smooth wall in front of him. The Hynafol murmured something under his breath in foreign language and the stone underneath his palm turned a bright white. The stone looked like it was rippling under his touch and the white light changed to a dull yellow, then orange and then a vibrant red that coated all three walls of the alcove

 

Artie knew he was gaping idiotically, but it was just so fascinating. He looked back at Emrys to say something, anything, but his words died in his throat when he saw the gold in his eyes.

 

His face was furrowed in concentration.

 

“Where are we going?” he finally asked when his voice returned to him. Emrys didn't answer him, only held his palm out like he expected Artie to hand him something. “What?” He huffed irritatedly when Emrys reached out and curled his fingers around his wrist and laid it against the pulsing wall without his permission.

 

Artie gasped. The wall was warm, like it had been exposed to the bright summer sunlight but was cooling as the sun sank lower in the sky. It engulfed them both until Artie could feel a warm tickle all around him. There was a nudge at the base of his spine, like someone was pushing him forward into an unknown abyss and he shut his eyes instinctively as his whole body lurched.

 

When he opened his eyes again, they were standing under a dark fake looking sky. It was as if someone had painted it that exact shade of red and black.

 

“Where are we?” he whispered to Emrys.

 

Emrys merely pointed at the plaque that hung over the gate in front of them.

**  
__**

**_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate._**

 **  
**

Artie stared at the ominous looking gate in despair. He had been forced to take Latin as a child and he might not have known what Mab said, but the words and the morbid ambiance didn't leave him with much hope that they were anyplace pleasant.

 

“‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,’” Artie translated, just in case Emrys didn't know his Latin. He pretended to ignore the annoyed glance Emrys flashed him, and suppressed a smirk.

 

Emrys peered at the severe looking, lonely black clad sentry standing at attention in front of the gate. “We're in the Gateway.”

 

“The what?”

 

“Gateway. A sort of junction for the entrances to different Afterlives.” At Artie's still baffled expression, Emrys rolled his eyes. “In a manner of speaking. Hell or the Afterlife isn't as linear as people today believe. There are different planes of Hell or Underworld or what have you.” At Artie's confused expression he added with a very put upon sigh, “Every faith's version of 'the Great Beyond' is real in it's own way, just on a different plane of existence than the one you come from. This is the Gateway that takes you to whichever plane you wish to visit. This was Dante's inspiration, actually.”

 

“Dante? Dante who wrote the _Divine Comedy_? You're not actually telling me Dante Alighieri was here.”

 

“Of course Dante was here. He was an Anfarwol of the Order. He was the one to confirm the theory of multiple planes. Mab and he were...close.” The twisted moue of his mouth explained much more that his words.

 

Artie tried to imagine what Emrys meant by close, and then shuddered when the only image he was able to conjure was that of Dante's decaying corpse and Mab standing over it, stroking it fondly. He wished he could claw his eyes out.

 

Emrys smiled at him, amused, because obviously he knew exactly what Artie was thinking. He was eerie like that. He turned away, nodded at the sentry. “Right. Well. Hello, Mr. Sentry. Perhaps you would acquiesce to our request of gaining entry?”

 

There was a loaded silence during which Artie was sure the giant of a sentry was going to clobber them to death with the handle of his spiked ax. His eyes were shadowed and even if Artie could see them, he didn't think he wanted to.

 

Slowly, with an ominous creak of bones that made the hair on Artie’s neck stand, the sentry nodded his assent. He shuffled a few inches to the right to let them pass.

 

It was a mark of how much absurdity Artie had seen in the last few days when he didn’t even blink as Emrys glided through the closed wrought iron gate.

*****

  
Merlin led the way. It was dark and gloomy and maybe someday it would stop sounding like a big fucking cliché, but right now it felt as if there was no end to the tunnel. The only light came from the small ball of blue fire Merlin had created and even it was protesting against the onslaught of this much darkness and sorrow. His fire hated it here. His magic protested because this was the Gateway to the worlds of the Dead.

 

Merlin had no business being here.

 

But Arthur, oh how the dead loved Arthur. He was theirs. He was theirs the moment his birth resulted in the death of his own mother. And then the deaths of hundreds and thousands of people whose only mistake had been to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

It took all of Merlin's magical recesses to tap into the wards that kept the dead at bay. It kept the dead from taking Arthur and smothering him with their decaying scent. The dead were not an unforgiving lot - that was not to say they were forgiving, either. These dead souls that lined the walls of the tunnel were not even the most dangerous of them all. These were just the grunts. The true threats lay beyond the end of the tunnel where Merlin would have to make the decision on where to go.

 

“How much farther?” Arthur's voice jerked Merlin out of his thoughts.

 

“You're like that annoying child in an American family comedy that doesn't stop asking if we're there yet,” Merlin snapped and regretted it immediately.

 

There was a fine line between maintaining a distance between Arthur and himself and being outright cold.

 

Either Arthur had grown immune to his curt manner or he didn't really give a flying fuck in the first place because he just sighed. “When you're feeling up to giving me a real answer, I'll be right here. Walking. Down this boring, endless corridor of nothing.”

 

Merlin stopped in his path, because of course. _Of course_. He had never met someone so oblivious to magic and all its intricacies. How he ever survived was a miracle. “You can't hear them, can you? You can't feel their touch slither across your skin as they try and grab for you.” Merlin reached out and pulled Arthur close to him, careful not to let their bare skin touch, felt Arthur stiffen as he sniffed Arthur's neck. “You can't feel the stench they've left on you.”

 

But Merlin could. He could hear and smell and feel it all. He could hear their echoing whispers. Whispers that said, “Ours. Ours. Ours.”

 

Merlin let go of Arthur as abruptly as he had latched on. He increased the distance between them, clenched his fist.“We're almost there. Just until the end of the tunnel.”

*****

Artie followed Emrys, bemused by what had just transpired. He reached up and scratched at his neck, a little flustered, but mostly confused. What did Emrys mean? Who were 'they'? What was – Artie stretched his neck. He could still feel Emrys' hot breath against his skin.

 

Artie blushed and caught himself when his thoughts threatened to stray. He scolded himself sternly.

 

_Get a grip, Artie. He was just trying to prove a point_. Although what that point may have been, he couldn't say.

 

Emrys, for once, was not just indulging Artie when he said they were almost there. It was no hop, skip, and jump by any means, but it also wasn’t the two more hours Artie was convinced it was going to be.

 

Beyond the tunnel was a small room with very many moving doors. Artie could barely keep track of which one as which, and to add to the dilemma, they also changed colour every so often. He felt dizziness set in the more he stared.

 

“Wow. Fuck IKEA. I know where I’m going whenever I have a shortage of doors,” Artie quipped.

 

“You don’t get doors at IKEA, idiot.” Emrys shook his head, but he was refraining from smiling, so Artie took it as a win of sorts.

 

“You might. Never know, mate, IKEA might expand their horizons or some shit and go, oh-la-la, let us make doors of prime Swedish quality for newly divorced dads and starving college students.”

 

Emrys looked like he wanted to slap Artie upside the head. “I doubt even you understand most of the idiotic words that fall from your mouth. No, shut up. You’re being just the right amount of obnoxious merely by standing there. You don’t need to prove how much more of a child you can be by opening your mouth.”

 

Artie debated ignoring him, but one of the spinning doors of death knocked him over, effectively halting his train of thought. “Ack!” Emrys' lips twitched in a way that told Artie he was refraining from doubling over with laughter, the arsehole. “Har har. Artie fell on his arse. How funny. Can we just get on with it and leave this Doomsday Doorland?”

 

“Certainly.”

 

What he did next looked nothing more complicated than a simple 'eenie meenie minee mo' to Artie. In all likelihood, it was far more complex than that and involved magical shenanigans he wanted no part of.

 

Emrys caught hold of a light blue colored door. It had runes on it, and while it didn't look as ominous as some of the other doors, it didn't really instill Artie with a sense of calm. Whatever was on the other side of the door, it was probably highly dangerous and very unwelcoming.

*****

“Stick close and follow my lead,” Merlin told Arthur right before opening the door. “These people will not hesitate to kill you.”

 

Arthur snorted, but Merlin had no doubt he had heard him, so he didn't say anything else. He stepped through the door and was immediately greeted by twelve big, sturdy warriors with red and blue skin.

 

Merlin automatically raised his hands in the universal sign of peace. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “Are you here to welcome us?”

 

The closest warrior grunted affirmatively. “Hynafol Emrys of Draig, we are to take you to our Queen.”

 

“I should hope so, since that's who I am here to see in the first place.”

 

The warrior grunted again, this time with a little disdain. She signaled her companions and they formed a loose ring around Arthur and himself. Merlin dreaded being brought in front of their Queen, maybe because he had met Loki too many times to even consider underestimating his children. He knew a little about hellish spawn. But there were things that needed doing and so a meeting with the Goddess of the Dead was inevitable.

 

Her voice reached them before he could see her properly.

 

“You do not belong here, Old One.” A subtle way of saying ‘you’re very unwelcome.’”

 

Merlin smiled to himself. He bowed as low as etiquette permitted him, and mustered as much snark as he could without causing offence. “Believe me, if I had the option to be anywhere else, I would be there.”

 

“ _He_ belongs in Valhalla,” Hel said mildly as if Merlin had not spoken at all, pointing at Arthur. Then again, as far as Merlin recalled, she did everything mildly for someone who was goddess of the dead.

 

From beside him he heard Arthur mutter, “Why are all the evil ones gorgeous?”

 

Gorgeous. Well, Hel was not really gorgeous in the typical way, but after over a millennium on Earth, Merlin could appreciate unusual beauty. He looked up at Hel and tried to remember how he had felt when he first saw her. The awe and wonder that coursed through him at the first glance of her terrifying face. He remembered how he had cringed internally when he saw the burn scars that glittered across only the right side of her body while the rest of it was a pale, icy-blue, just as cold to the touch. Her face, though mutilated, still looked elegant and savage all at once. It had been that very incongruous combination that had drawn Merlin to her several centuries ago.

 

Hel quirked her lips at that and positively leered at Arthur. “We must have some redeeming qualities.” She turned back to Merlin. “Is he a present for me? It has been too long since I have been brought one as beautiful as this.”

 

“Ah, no,” Merlin said firmly. He despaired at the fact that no matter what year it was or what plane of existence, crazy evil women would always want Arthur. Besides, Hel was just saying that to get a rise out of him. She knew exactly who Arthur was, dammit. “I wish to ask a favour of you. One that, I hope, will be mutually beneficial.”

 

Hel narrowed her gaze slightly. “What makes you so certain I will heed your request? I owe you nothing – ”

 

He had a feeling she would be dismissive of him, so he jumped in. “But I will. Or do you want to be the one to tell Loki you let an opportunity of having me indebted to you slip through your fingers?”

 

Merlin knew he had her when she smiled dangerously, acknowledging she was trapped. Hel barred her teeth in a threatening leer and snapped her fingers at a guard standing nearby. She whispered some instructions to him and turned back to Arthur and Merlin once he had left.

 

“I cannot permit you to leave without my father meeting you. It would be most unkind. After all, it has been centuries since your last meeting.”

 

“Of course.” Merlin inclined his head in mock respect. “I would be honored to dine with your father.”

 

Hel smirked in a way that told Merlin she didn't believe him. Nevertheless, she floated down from her high throne and Merlin heard Arthur gasp. Yes, finding out that Hel didn't really have legs had been shocking for him as well.

 

“My servants will guide you to your chambers. You must rest. You have had a long journey. I will have you collected for supper.”

 

Merlin inclined his head once again, no longer bothered by niceties now that they were welcomed. “How very generous of you, my lady.”

 

“Not a problem.” She slithered close, much closer than necessary, but did not lower her voice. “If the rooms are too cold you know where to find me, my lord Hynafol.”

 

Merlin nodded once and followed the guards that led them to the same rooms he had occupied on his last visit to this plane.

 

“What the hell was that?” Arthur asked once they were in the – relative – privacy of the chambers they were given.

 

Merlin turned away and eyed the open closet of too-casual clothes that were unfit for their supper. “I have no idea what you are talking about. The bath is through that door over there. It might be too hot though, so be careful. People here like their baths scalding for some unfathomable reason. We should be given our robes any minute. You'll be expected to wear them.”

 

No sooner had he said that, there was a knock on the door. Merlin waved a hand at it and it opened to reveal a stony faced serving girl. Quite literally, as her face was made of stone. “Your robes, my lord. Gift from Her Majesty.”

 

“Thank you. You may leave them over there.” He pointed to a squat, ugly looking dresser. The girl did as she was told and sidled out of the room quickly without a backwards glance.

 

He saw Arthur inch toward the neatly packed boxes. “That's very generous of her.”

 

Merlin snorted. “She's showing off. Go on, get ready. We'll be called down soon enough.”

 

Soon enough turned out to be an hour and half of Merlin floating restlessly from one end of the room to the other. He wondered what Loki and Hel were discussing, whether Loki was reprimanding his daughter for letting Merlin into Helheim.

 

Arthur sat in one corner of the room, brooding out the fake window that showed a different starry sky than the one over Earth. Merlin wished he didn't have to be here, didn't have to be the world's saviour once more. But Fate had decided their destiny long ago, and as much as Merlin had tried to push it back and avoid it, this had always been inevitable. They were always going to end up here – maybe not this particular situation – but they were always going to be fighting. They were always going to be running for their lives. In the faint star light streaming through the window, Arthur looked younger than Merlin had ever seen him. Perhaps it was because Merlin himself was so old, ancient even, by Arthur's standards. Arthur felt more fragile and so very human that Merlin's chest ached. He just wanted to take Arthur and lock him away in his room back in London and guard it himself so no harm befell his prince. But Arthur couldn't live like that, and Merlin couldn't bring himself to be so selfish. Instead he thought of the man Arthur had been – would be again when the time came.

 

“What are those?”

 

Arthur drew him out of his pensive mood and noticed he was pointing at Merlin. More specifically, he was pointing at the clothes Merlin was wearing. They were very similar to Arthur's except for the colors. Where Arthur's were red and gold, Merlin's were sown a deep midnight blue cloth and black leather that had runes etched into the sleeves.

 

“Ah. They are markings of my status here in Helheim. And they prevent me from using my magic in a harmful manner,” he said with a wry grin. “Very shrewd of them.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “These people have a more rigid protocol than the entire Secret Service.”

 

“That's all right. My people do tend to do their job better anyway.” Merlin smirked when it earned him an angry squint from Arthur.

 

There was a sharp rap on the door. Another servant – a slight boy with a gleaming coat of fur and bright red eyes – was to escort them to the dining chamber apparently. He miraculously managed to lead and walk besides Arthur and Merlin simultaneously. If Merlin were anyone else, he would be fooled into thinking this was a sign of respect. Merlin was familiar enough with Helheim politics to realize it was only so that the boy could keep an eye on them without making it look like he, or rather Hel and Loki, distrusted their guests.

 

Merlin put himself between the servant and Arthur. He couldn't shield him forever in this snakepit, but he was damn well going to try.

 

Hel was a goddess of simple tastes and her castle – if it could be called that – reflected it. Unless she was out to intimidate someone she perceived as an enemy. There were no guards present within the room. But Merlin knew all her tricks, and it was obvious by the setting of the table that she was aware he understood her veiled threat. (It was a twisted game they were playing.) The table was a small four-seat affair that gave the illusion of intimacy, but hinted at darker outcomes if Merlin even so much as _thought_ about harming Hel or Loki.

 

“Emrys! My dear, dear old friend. How are you?”

 

The Liesmith clasped Merlin in a tight handshake that served the dual purpose of Loki extracting Merlin's true intentions and reminding Merlin that Loki was still strong as ever. They might be well matched in a magical duel, but should things get physical, Loki would always be able to beat him. He still had the scar from the last time Loki had sliced him open, chest to navel, with nothing but his nails. It was after he and Hel had terminated their...liaisons.

 

Loki was dressed in his full leather and gold armor, which was as much for show as it was for protection. He would have to be a fool not to be suspicious of Merlin. It was obvious he had taken a liking to the comics in the early twenty first century and had fashioned his new robes from the mortals' designs. Merlin suppressed a smirk at the knowledge and decided to store it at the back of his mind for later. At least he had kept the helmet off this time. Merlin never could take him seriously with those ridiculous goat horns.

 

“Always a pleasure, Loki.” He broke their contact once he was certain Loki had extracted all the information Merlin wanted him to know. “Please, let me introduce you to Prince Arthur Pendragon, Utherson.”

 

If Arthur found the additional name odd, he didn't show it. He smiled charmingly like Merlin had seen him do dozens of times for camera crews and sickly children. “A pleasure, Your Grace.”

 

That earned a laugh from Loki. “Oh, he is charming. I hardly believed my Hela when she told me. It seems she was not exaggerating, Emrys.”

 

“Of course not.” Hel's husky voice slithered through the room like silk. Merlin turned to face her and clenched his fingers at the sight before him. “I am offended you didn't believe me, Father.”

 

Well. That was how they were going to do it then: Loki the forceful general and Hel the captivating queen.

 

She had changed into a dress that managed to ensnare the senses and leave most men wanting more. It was the same shade of green as her father's armor. A subtle, yet clear sign of their alliance. Merlin had met many succubi over the years, but they had nothing – absolutely nothing – compared to Hel. He mustn't let her distract him, he reminded himself. It was an easier resolve to follow when he glanced sideways and saw Arthur's open mouthed stare. Merlin nudged him in the ribs harshly, and though it earned him another one of Arthur's glares it at least stopped him from making a bigger fool out of himself.

 

Hel positively glided over the floor to stand before them. Goddess of Helheim she may be, but even Aphrodite couldn't deny her sensuality. She presented the back of her hand first to Merlin to kiss, then to Arthur.

 

“Come. I had the cooks prepare your favorites. Pardon me, Prince Arthur but I am not knowledgeable in your preferences so I am afraid you shall have to endure the Hynafol’s rather wild tastes,” she said with a sultry smile that managed to fluster Arthur.

 

Merlin gritted his teeth and sat himself right next to Arthur and directly across from Loki. Which meant he was much too close to Hel for comfort. Their food appeared as soon as they settled around the table. The table was indeed groaning under food Merlin favored.

 

“I remembered the chimera stew was always your favorite.”

 

Arthur choked beside him and shoved the bowl away. “Uh. I think I’ll just pass on food in general, thanks.”

 

“Oh, but you haven’t tried the satyr meat yet. I assure you my cooks are the best when it comes to cooking satyrs.” Hel’s face was positively alight with malicious glee.

 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “No one’s killing satyrs or chimeras for food. It’s beef. _Eat_.”

 

“Hela, that was very rude of you. They are our guests,” Loki reprimanded in a fatherly tone that implied that neither of them was ready to kill Merlin Arthur the moment they said or did something wrong.

 

Gods, how Merlin hated the two of them sometimes. They were probably the most dysfunctional family in all the planes, and yet they at least got a chance to play happy family. He was already exasperated by their ploy at making it seem like this was just a regular Sunday dinner with friends.

 

“Let’s get right down to it, shall we?” Merlin said bluntly, placing his spoon back on the table. He didn’t need the food in the first place and Hel’s cook was terrible because he usually was used to cooking satyrs and chimeras. Common place things such as beef and rice escaped him. “You know what I want. You’ve known what I will want for the last century. It is why I haven’t heard jack dick from the both of you in all this time. Even when you had that little strife with Kali, Loki. You went to Zeus. _Zeus_. Must have been really desperate if you were willing to go to that ignoramus of a god.”

 

Loki’s perpetual smirk didn’t waver, but Merlin knew he was right. “What are you trying to say, Hynafol?”

 

“I am saying that you have me right where you’ve wanted me since we met a thousand years ago: indebted to you. I’m asking why are we going through this farce of a meal when we all know you Hel will side with me. You are wasting precious time and we all know it.”

 

“Good lord.Stop talking to a man for a few decades and he loses the ability to take a joke,” Loki stage whispered to Hel.

 

Merlin’s fist connected with the table, rattling it. He ignored Arthur’s indignant shout as his stew slopped over. “Dammit, Loki. I am not here to play your games. Or yours, Hel. You knew all along and yet you called him here, knowing that it would lengthen the whole ordeal.”

 

Hel said nothing. She had a calculating look on her face that Merlin had made the mistake of underestimating once. Even with Loki here, it was obvious the final decision rested with Hel. Loki might be her father, but whatever power he had in Helheim depended on whatever sway Hel was willing to concede at any given moment. After a long, tense moment, Hel nodded her head by the tiniest margin. She leaned closer and Merlin felt Arthur tense beside him.

 

“All right. I will give you what you want, but you must know that you will remain in my debt until I call on you for a task of as great a magnitude as the one you ask of me. Then, and only then, will we be equals once more.”

 

“Would not expect anything less.” Merlin pushed his chair back with a loud screech. He felt more than saw Loki's wince. He'd be paying for his uncouth behaviour in the centuries to comes. “I expect it will be delivered by tomorrow.”

 

Hel smirked in a way that told Merlin she was already two steps ahead of him. “I will have sent it by yesterday. It is a long journey after all. But not before we seal our pact, Hynafol.”

 

Merlin cleared his throat. Hel's parameters for sealing a deal changed wildly. Sometimes it could be a simple handshake, or a kiss, or sometimes it was more...intimate. To anyone else, Arthur would have seemed inattentive, engrossed in his meal, but Merlin knew he was quite alert . Before Merlin could ask what it was she wanted, Hel was out of her chair and she was walking toward...Arthur. Arthur looked up just in time to see the Goddess lean down and capture his lips in a deep kiss. Merlin could only sit there and gape as he saw the flush run up Arthur's neck and tint his cheeks a bright red. Loki, meanwhile, just sat on his smug arse and grinned impishly at no one in particular.

 

“There,” she said, pressing her fingers delicately to her lips. “We have a deal, Emrys.”

 

Arthur still had his eyes closed and was sporting a dazed look that made Merlin want to – to do what exactly? Arthur wasn't a child. He was certainly old enough to kiss someone or do whatever else he pleased. But this was Hel and something about that didn't sit right with Merlin.

 

Merlin stood up and wiped his face clear of all emotions. He didn't want her to think she had got to him any more than she already had. She had enough to be smug about anyhow. Now that their business was done, he felt no need to stand on formality, nor did he want to spend any further time in this miserable kingdom. He vanished the robes given to him by Hel and almost breathed a sigh of relief at the feel of his familiar wool suit. Merlin did the same for Arthur, who didn't even notice the change in his wardrobe until Merlin snapped his fingers irritably. He was staring too avidly at Hel for Merlin's liking.

 

“Thank you for your, ah – hospitality,” Arthur told Loki and Hel. He blushed and avoided looking at the latter.

 

“Of course,” Hel purred. “I hope to see you again, young prince.”

 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. We all know of your fetish for young warriors, Hel. For God's sake, leave the poor boy alone. Loki, I'll see you in a few years. You still owe me a basilisk egg.”

 

He took it as a win when Loki's smirk was replaced with a glower. He didn't want to give Loki the opportunity of having the last word so he strolled out the dining chamber, Arthur trailing behind him, glancing over his shoulder every so often to look at Hel. Merlin scowled and quickened his pace.

*****

As they stepped through another door, this time a mist-like substance, Artie bit back a low hiss. If he never went through these stupid doors ever again, it would be too soon. They didn't hurt as such, but walked through them left a bitter burn, like he had gulped scotch too quickly, in the back of his throat.

 

He blinked rapidly until his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness of the cavern they were in. The first thing he recognised was the sound of rushing water. He didn't comment on the absurdity of water flowing in a place like this. The sole source of light in here was a lamp dangling off a mast on a small boat resting at the bank of what was obviously the stream. Although stream was an inadequate description. It was a large river that seemed to go on forever in either direction. It might have just been the lack of real light, but the water looked pitch black and lifeless.

 

When he looked back at the boat, there was a man standing in it, tall and pale and sullen-looking. He stretched out a bony, skinless arm and said something in a language Artie only vaguely understood to be Greek from distant memories of sitting for hours in the Grecian Embassy as a child. Emrys replied quietly and placed an ancient looking coin in his palm.

 

Artie didn't even bother to be surprised that Emrys spoke fluent Greek and carried old coins around on his person. It was Emrys. He had stopped questioning everything about the man. He might not have understood the excahange between Emrys and the creepy rower, he did realize however, that the entire exchange meant they were in the Greek Underworld, kingdom of Hades, and that this was the River Styx.

 

“Please tell me this stops being weird sometime soon,” he told Emrys as they boarded the low boat into Hades' fucking Underworld.

 

“I make no promises,” was the quick, unhelpful reply.

 

Eventually, the Styx ceased its unnaturally straight course and began to dip and rise and bend so tightly, Artie was left with the impression that he was on a very long, very morbid water slide at an equally depressing amusement park. Sometimes, if the meagre light permitted it, he could see carvings in the cave walls. Some of them told stories, like that one with Medusa and a sword while others were just portraits of mythical creatures. He thought he saw a flying horse in there somewhere.

 

The tunnel ended after what seemed like ages and opened into a wide field of fiery colored grass. He looked behind him just in time to watch the tunnel opening vanish into nothingness, but the water continued, five feet in either direction, like some sort of aquatic road, and as absurd as it sounded, Artie was just thankful they weren't floating in mid-air.

 

_Yep_ , he told himself. _Weirdest fucking day ever_.

 

The only thing that made the already bizarre day even more absurd was watching the god of the Underworld and Emrys embrace tightly.

*****

The ferryman dropped them off right in front of Hades' castle of fire and brimstone. It was mostly an illusion, Merlin knew, but it did keep the poor souls in awe of their god's majestic power, so Hades kept it. Merlin could look beyond the façade and see Persephone's latest dab at renovating their home (a traditional Grecian villa this time). Merlin knew Hades let her have her way because it was easier than having any of the other gods – namely Zeus – getting involved.

 

Persephone's pets were the first to greet him, nipping and yapping at his feet. They were young little things, not yet a hundred years old, but they were fairly larger than most other hounds their age. He felt Arthur stumble slightly as one of them got closer to him, and he reached out a hand to keep him standing. “They're fine. Perfectly harmless, see?” Merlin knelt to demonstrate and produced two slabs of meat for each of them. He always kept some on hand when visiting the Underworld.

 

“Yes,” Arthur drawled, placing himself a good seven feet away. “Their three inch long fangs look completely docile. I'll just take a picture and post it on my fucking blog, shall I? Hashtag cutestpuppyevarrr.”

 

Merlin scratched behind the older pup's ears. “Hey, Akakios. Is your mother around, or is she visiting Demeter? I can never keep of how time travels down here.” Akakios barked once. “Oh, she's around then? Damn, but I was hoping to avoid the bi – ”

 

“Emrys. What a lovely surprise. It couldn't possibly have been long enough for you to visit so soon,” A sugary sweet voice said from behind the two pups.

 

Merlin winced at Persephone's saccharine tone. He rose from his crouch and plastered the widest, most insincere smile he could muster and raised his arms. “Persephone! Welcoming as always.”

 

The Queen of the Underworld glided down the pure white marble stairs and kissed Merlin on both cheeks. He could tell the exact moment she noticed Arthur from the way her false tone turned a full circle the minute she clapped eyes on him. Persephone always did like her boys. Merlin stifled a sigh. What was it going to take to keep Arthur from the claws of vicious goddesses?

 

“And who is this?” Persephone moved away from Merlin with a dismissive sniff and sidled closer to Arthur. She held out a thin, spidery hand. “Persephone, goddess of this charming place.”

 

Arthur, ever the polite prince, bowed to her gracefully and introduced himself right back, the dim-witted fool. Persephone would eat him right up if given half a chance.

 

Merlin resisted the urge to trip her over her own gown and jumped in when it became obvious Persephone was getting too close to Arthur. “Have we all been introduced to your heart's content, Sephy? Because I have important business with Ha – ”

 

“WHERE'S THAT TWICE CURSED DICK MUNCHIN’ SCOUNDREL OF A WARLOCK? SEVENTY YEARS AND NOT A SINGLE PORTAL MESSAGE, YOU SON OF A LOOSE HOLED TWO FISTED MONKEY!”

 

Merlin faked an offended splutter and took extra joy in how much their routine angered Persephone. “Right here, you utter waste of holiness. And it's your own damn fault I haven't been around. It wasn't my idea to pull just a 'teeny tiny prank, honestly he won't even know it was us' on Poseidon that got me banished from these Realms.”

 

“Eh, bastard always was a sore loser,” Hades boomed, because Hades never said anything if he couldn't roar it to the skies. He jumped down the last few stairs and stood in front of Merlin, wide grin uncharacteristic of gods spread across his face. It was why Hades had always been Merlin's favourite god. Merlin cringed slightly when Hades pulled him into a rib crushing embrace. “Come in. Charon said he was bringin’ ya. What reminded you of this blasted place anyway?”

 

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, but Persephone was already cooing over Arthur, so they were in no danger of being overheard. “It’s regarding the box I left with you. I need it.” Hades looked alarmed. Merlin shook his head and jerked it toward Arthur. “I know what I said before, but. Hades. _It’s time_.”

 

Hades looked from Merlin to where Arthur was standing awkwardly as the goddess of the Underworld petted at him. A thousand thoughts went through his mind, each one so much louder and more vivid than the last that Merlin could practically hear them.

 

He was as lost in the memories as Hades. This would only be their second meeting in four hundred years. It was a different time; a different place; a different war. It had been a war between Zeus and Poseidon. Hades had gone to interfere, and Merlin had just been an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. The battle between the two older brothers had gotten so fierce, it collapsed the strands of reality and merged the different planes into one big orgy of death and destruction. Even the Nephilim had gotten involved and no one liked it when they tangled themselves in matters that didn’t concern them. It had been a terrible mess all around, so Merlin had done the only sensible thing he could think of: he had gotten into the fray, despite Kilgarrah’s urgent warnings. He’d never really listened to the dragon’s cryptic bullshit anyway.

 

With the help of the angels, Loki, Shiva, Frigga and Merlin, Hades was able to calm his brothers and restore the balance of the multi-planes. For Merlin’s help, Hades had granted him a boon, and Merlin, remembering the sword still strapped to his waist, had unsheathed it and asked Hades to help him conceal it better. Times were changing on Earth. The era of swords and lances was gone. Now there was gunpowder and spheres that slaughtered dozens of men in one go. It was more terrifying than any magic Merlin had ever seen. But he couldn’t keep the sword around any more if he wanted to keep it from Mab. So Hades took the sword to his nephew Hephaestus who moulded the it into a modern weapon: A long gun Merlin found much easier to handle. Since then, the gun had gone through many incarnations and its most current form closely resembled that of a revolver of the highest calibre.

 

But the revolver was not what he wanted from Hades. He wanted something else entirely.

 

Hades nodded in understanding, and moved closer to his wife and Arthur. “So, this is your boy, eh, Emrys?” Merlin winced at his choice of words, especially considering the thoughts that were going through his mind only a few minutes prior. “This is the famous prince o’ the mortals. How many summers have you seen, boy?”

 

Merlin could tell Arthur didn’t appreciate being called boy. “None. I live in London,” he snapped at Hades.

 

Persephone giggled, fingers dusting off imaginary lint off Arthur’s shoulder. “I like him.”

 

_Of course you do_. Merlin was distracted from his usual vicious thoughts on Persephone when Hades beckoned them into his ridiculously ostentatious house. If asked, Merlin couldn’t pinpoint the moment he began disliking the Queen of the Underworld. Honestly, he was not even sure why they had formed their mutual hatred in the first place. It had just been one of those things that grew as time passed until not a single person involved knew what they were fighting about. There was a time when Merlin hadn’t been jaded by the world and all the wonders it had to offer, a time when things like gods and goddesses amazed and thrilled him, made him want to be like them. But he had been a lot younger than and a lot more naive. He had learned what cruel, thoughtless beings they the gods could be when provoked and how very unforgiving their nature was. Perhaps that had been why Merlin disliked Hades’ wife. In any case, it wasn’t particularly important, especially now.

 

They were in one of the parlours when Persephone insisted she wanted to give Arthur the grand tour. Merlin didn’t protest since he needed a few moments alone with Hades, but he did make sure to glare at the back of Persephone’s head to make his displeasure known.

 

“Your boy’s mighty younger than I imagined he would be,” Hades said, walking over to a door that had not been there two seconds ago.

 

Merlin followed him swiftly, and sealed it with his own brand of magic as an extra precaution. “He’s not my boy.”

 

“Sure he is. Hasn’t done anything you didn’t want him doing from the moment you took him from his bed.” Hades chuckled at himself.

 

“You’ve been watching me.” It wasn’t a question. He should have know that of all the gods, Hades would be keeping an eye out for him. He wasn’t even surprised really, he was more confused as to how Hades hadn’t known his true purpose.

 

“Course I‘ve been watchin’ ya. What else am I supposed to do in this shitty place? We don’t even get that - what d’you call it? World wide arachnid or something?”

 

“Internet,” Merlin said, amused when Hades muttered curses about Hermes keeping all the new ways of messaging to himself. “We call it the Internet, and it’s a damn good thing you don’t get it, otherwise you would probably be a massive troll. They would even make a meme after you.”

 

“A meme? That sounds exciting. How do I make myself a meme?”

 

Merlin laughed at Hades’ eagerness. “You don’t, and if there is any justice in the world, you never will.”

 

Hades clutched his hand to his heart. “You say the most hurtful things sometimes. What if it had been my lifelong ambition to be a meme? What if, ever since I was a wee lad, that had been my dream?”

 

Merlin rolled his eyes and reminded Hades they had actual work to do. He wasn’t paying just a friendly visit.

 

“Ah, yes. The box. God, what an ominous sounding name. The _box_.” Hades strode to a small, spindly tripod in a corner of the room. He touched the underside and it shimmered, transforming into an old-fashioned safe. “Come here.”

 

Merlin removed his glove and pressed his hand against the front of the safe where a turn-dial would usually was. He felt the safe heat to an almost unbearable degree as it accepted his magical signature along with Hades’ personal brand of divine power.

 

The lock snicked open.

 

Merlin stepped back as Hades delicately retrieved a small, wooden box with security runes etched into it. The runes were Asgardian in nature, having been carved some centuries back by Loki, but the spell that sealed them was put in place by the god of the Underworld. The runes glowed faintly as the spell was stripped off them. Only then did Merlin dare touch it. He still remembered the poisonous blisters the runes had left on him the last time he had been hasty in touching the box without Hades’s permission.

 

Hades handed the box to Merlin. As he closed the safe, Merlin spied another, smaller box; he turned away, careful to hide the clench of his fingers. That box was more dangerous and far, far more valuable than the one he held.

 

Hades raised an eye questioningly when the box didn't show an awkward bulge in Merlin’s coat pocket.

 

“They're magically expanded,” Merlin explained. “Very convenient.”

 

“I'll say.”

 

Merlin clasped Hades' arm and turned to leave. His friend was always good, but he had a bad habit of stretching Merlin’s visits, especially when Merlin had important tasks waiting for him back on Earth. He was quite eager to get to their next destination. He had to fetch Arthur from Persephone first, though.

 

“Emrys.” Merlin usually forgot how fearsome the god could get, but when he spoke in that severe, gravelly voice, it became obvious how powerful he was. “Use it well, friend. Those are not toys you hold.”

 

“I'm aware,” Merlin said, a little tersely. “It isn't like back then.”

 

He could hear Hades' exasperated, almost paternal, sigh as he clapped Merlin on the shoulder. “I know, old friend. I just – I worry, that is all.”

 

Merlin nodded, ashamed at himself for snapping back when he knew Hades just wanted him safe.

 

Merlin smiled, bright and happy and strained. He knew Hades saw right through it, but the god didn’t call him out on it. “Let us find Arthur and your wretched wi – hey!” Merlin struggled to escape the sudden headlock.

 

“You know I dislike it when your sharp tongue cuts into my wife’s character, my friend.” Hades laughed at the effort spent in vain. Even on a good day, Merlin could never beat Hades in a physical fight.

 

He tripped Hades with magic and cackled bit too loudly when the god fell flat on his arse.

 

“You little prick! Just for that you have to stay and watch the games. That is an order.”

 

“What? No. You know I hate those, Hades. They have too many dead souls and too little entertainment.”

 

Merlin shuddered at the thought of sitting in that wretched arena. He didn’t relish the idea of the glares he would receive from hundreds of blank, cold eyes. It mattered little what part of the Underworld they came from. To all of them, he was an abomination; a freak from the mortal world: detested and envied. Hades had always said it was all in Merlin’s head, that the dead were not jealous of him, but he wasn’t the one who felt their contempt in the pit of his stomach, like a small animal trying to claw its way out of him.

 

Any and all protests Merlin made fell on deaf ears, and in the end he had no choice but to sit in a seat of honour next to Hades. He cloaked himself in a defensive layer of magic, ignoring the Underworld’s subjects and craned his neck for Arthur and Persephone, who were nowhere in sight. Arthur had always loved a good fight, and Merlin didn’t think that would have changed even after a thousand years. His silly grin and running commentary on each of the participants would have made these moronic games more tolerable. The tournaments Hades held every few years were his own little 'fuck you' to Zeus and his Olympics, which Hades had been banned from. He had a feeling Hades had purposefully arranged it so the warrior games fell on the day he knew Merlin would visit. He could be a bastard like that. Merlin shuffled in his seat and scowled; if Hades was going to insist on being a giant dick ponce, Merlin was going to make his displeasure known.

 

He had tried every argument from 'the end of the world, Hades. Do want the world to be destroyed?' to 'Persephone will not be very happy about that,' to 'I swear I'll go to Zeus and tell him about that time you replaced his ambrosia with cow piss.' Hades waved them all away with a hearty chuckle and dragged him to the arena with grand promises of Cerberus. Merlin had always known he would regret the day he confided his strange love for deadly animals of the canine variety.

 

When the first, second, and third fights passed with no signs of Arthur, Merlin began to get restless with worry. He knew nothing truly harmful could happen since Hades was aware of all that went of in his realm, but – this was the land of the deceased and all Merlin could think about were those souls that kept reaching out to the oblivious prince, wanting to draw him back among them. He should never have left Arthur alone, let alone with someone like Persephone. Merlin rose from his seat, but was pulled abruptly back into his seat into it by a strong arm.

 

“Sit your arse down. Your boy will be here soon enough.”

 

“Not my boy,” Merlin muttered, and crossed his arms.

 

“Look. There he is,” Hades said with a shit eating grin.

 

Arthur was indeed there. “There” being the middle of the arena, standing in his jeans and shirt with a flimsy looking sword. If Merlin had ever doubted whether this really was Arthur, it was cleared up now by the fact that the idiot didn't look scared, just somewhat confused. Arthur was exposed and Merlin was too far away to protect him from the dead, who bristled with excitement as they smelled his bright, youthful, alive soul. A ward, wouldn't be enough with so many of them clambering to get a hold of him. Merlin wondered if they could sense Hel's mark on him as well, the mark of a queen who wasn't theirs. Maybe they were envious, just like --

 

“What? How? Hades.”

 

Hades refused to look sufficiently cowed by Merlin, even when Merlin conjured a fiery ball that would, at the very least, knock Hades out for several days. Hades raised his palm in a placating gesture.

 

“You should have known better than to bring a mortal to my land. There is always a price, Emrys. Or had you forgotten that?”

 

“He's just a boy!” Merlin snarled.

 

Hades' expression turned hard. “Exactly. He's just a boy. A green, naïve little lad and you're leaving your life in his hands. He's untried and untested, and you mean for him to defeat your greatest enemy? How blind can you be to not see the danger he poses? He's more of a liability than an asset at this point.”

 

“He is my _king_ ,” Merlin gritted his teeth, furious at Hades for his blatant lies.

 

“Your king is dead and in his place stands a boy that is floundering under the looming threat of a battle you will not conquer if you keep shadowing his every step as you have done for all his life. This was supposed to be his second chance. A way for him live a life unlike his last. What have you done to change that? Your lad isn't a king any more, Emrys, but he has a potential that you are keeping him from. You believe yourself immortal when you're not, and he may be unaware of it, but we both know that if he fails, you will bleed into the soil just like any mortal. He's a boy playing hero and you're a man playing god. You're meant to be the general, and yet you act like a common foot soldier who looks out for his superior. You are not his servant any more. There is more at stake than just his or your life. If you do not catch yourself now, friend, you will fail. Don't let the Fates rule Destiny this time around. _It will do you no good_.”

 

The fireball fizzed out. Merlin wondered just how long the god had restrained himself from speaking his thoughts were similar to what Morgana’s words just a few days ago. Both of them were right; Merlin couldn't go running after Arthur any more. He wasn't just a dispensable foot soldier. He had to think of the greater good – something he had not given much thought since the day the naiad attacked Arthur on palace grounds.

 

Merlin nodded, defeated. He noticed the fight had already begun whilst he was busy arguing with Hades and almost laughed out loud when he saw what creature it was Arthur was fighting.

 

Cerberus snarled and pawed at the ground, yellow eyes glaring at its opponent. Over all the jeers and the heckles, Merlin could still hear Arthur's terrified, “HOLY SHIT. WHAT THE FUCK.”

 

“I'm sorry, my friend, but this is the only way,” Hades said from beside him.

 

_No, it isn't_ , Merlin didn't say, because they would just be empty words. They both knew Hades was doing the right thing, but the instinct to shield and protect Arthur was too overpowering and Merlin doubted it would ever go away. He had and always would put Arthur first; he didn't think he could ever stop.

 

Merlin leaned over the edge of the railing that separated Hades' seats from the rest of the deceased. His fingers curled around the cool metal as Arthur stumbled in his haste to get away from the fearsome three-headed dog. He knew Hades' pet wouldn't mortally wound Arthur, and he knew Arthur’s blows would not stick for longer than a few hours on Cerberus. As pointless as the fight was, Merlin still had to restrain himself from jumping the barrier and aiding Arthur.

 

As if Hades could read his mind, he reached out and grabbed Merlin by the back of his jacket. “For once in your life, just watch the damn prince, you stubborn man.”

 

Merlin sat back, careful not to betray any more emotions. He shifted only just when Cerberus' claw tore Arthur's shirt, and drew blood.

*****

Artie jumped back, and lost his footing as another large, clawed paw’ came down on him. He rolled out of its way just in time and coughed as the dust from the ground clogged his nose and mouth. His heart raced as fast as a hare running from a fox. Breathing shallowly, he crawled quickly until he was crouched behind the mutant dog. He wasn't really sure what had gotten him in this situation. One minute he had been trying not to squirm as Persephone's hand inched closer and closer to his arse and the next, she was saying something about an arena and glory.

 

“Come now, young prince,” she purred. “You would not dare pass on an opportunity to impress the Hynafol.” Artie stiffened at the sudden mention of his staid partner – _no, not partner_ , he thought, blushing furiously. Persephone definitely noticed, because he saw her lips twist into a Cheshire grin, pearly white teeth glinting like fangs. “I've seen how you look at him, how you want him to look at you as something more than just a pet to lug around these dismal lands of the dead. He doesn't respect you, does he? He still thinks you’re a child. A nobody. He hasn't even told you what's happening on Earth, has he? He doesn't trust you. That's very typical of him; the great Hynafol Emrys making decisions for others, disregarding their feelings. He doesn't care about you, princeling. Or, he will not unless you prove yourself. Do you want that? Do you want Emrys to look at you like the man we both know you are?”

 

“Yes,” Artie snapped before he fully understood what he was agreeing to.

 

The queen's laugh rang around the corridor. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Good lad.”

 

So here he was, shitty sword in hand and trying to fight a monstrous three headed creature he had always thought existed only in children's story books and fairy tales. He tried to remember all his childhood lessons on stalking prey. His grandmother had enjoyed hunting immensely, and she would take them all to the countryside at least once during hunting season. Artie's mother had never taken a liking to it however. She didn't consider it a sport when the other side was a bunch of ‘innocent, mute animals.’ Artie had always felt like he was betraying his mother whenever he bagged a pheasant, so after she had died he gave up hunting. His father would give him sad looks whenever he left for the countryside, like he knew why Artie refused to hunt. Luckily, Artie wasn't completely inept with a sword, thanks to fencing tutors and Lance, who, in hindsight, had probably known what was coming.

 

The dog made a growled low the way the palace dogs used to make when they were confused. Its giant tail swooshed from one side to the other. Then all three heads swung around. The creature growled and twisted its. massive body until it faced Artie again.

 

_Fuck._

 

Fuck, he really had not thought this out and now he was going to die and Emrys was going to laugh at him because Artie really was just a stupid boy who couldn’t even save himself against a stupid, fluffy, mutant dog. He had wanted Emrys to notice him as something more than Arthur, the prince; Arthur, the boy he had to protect. He wanted Emrys to see Artie. But he never would, because Artie was three seconds away from being dog food. That would be his grave: a large dog bowl with bits hacked off and a label ‘Here lies Artie, the biggest idiot to have ever lived.’

 

He scrambled back and he slashed uselessly with the sword, taking a chunk of dog fur with it. Artie counted that as a success of some sorts. If there was one thing his grandmother had taught him, it was that animals, no matter how large or deadly, were in the end- stupid compared to him. The trick wasn’t to charge at the beast like a thick headed bull. It was to cheat the target into killing itself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Artie realized that a supernatural creature like Fluffy here couldn’t really be killed, but he decided not to discourage himself with semantics.

 

One advantage Artie had over Cerberus was speed. He darted in between its legs so until the three heads knocked into each other repeatedly and started squabbling amongst themselves Artie waited until he was sure the heads had forgotten about him before he crept toward the underside of the giant creature. There was no way the shitty sword could slice through the thick fur to the heart, but he had the next best thing. He raised his sword above his head to get the momentum he needed, and cut off the mutt’s bulging penis and balls.

 

Grim satisfaction coursed through him at the beast’s agonized howl. It only occurred to him to get out from under it when it began wobbling and he remember that he was still standing under it, and it could very well crush him.

 

Artie scanned the stands for Emrys. The man had seen, but if Arthur was expecting him to look even slightly impressed, he was disappointed: Emrys looked as unmoved as ever. Next to him, Hades leaned forward, disbelief colored over his face. When Artie bowed in mock respect to the King of the Underworld, Hades let out a hearty laugh that seemed to be the cue for the stands to erupt in cheers. Persephone, standing in one of the arena entrances, she gave him a genuine smile, so bright and quick that Artie believed he had imagined it. With a nod, she turned away, and vanished in a swirl of elaborate drapes just to shimmer into existence next to her husband.

 

Artie dropped the sword where he stood and walked out of the arena, only just refraining from giving Cerberus the two fingered salute. Emrys was already waiting for him once he was outside. Artie scowled. It was stupid to think Emrys would – that anything would change between them just because Artie had (temporarily) slain a creature of enormous size. If anything, Emrys looked amused rather than awed by Artie's castration of a giant dog.

 

“That was –”

 

“Shut up,” Artie growled before Emrys could say anything potentially embarrassing. He pulled at his tattered shirt, hissed when it stuck to his drying blood. “Fuck, but that hurts.”

 

“Here.” Emrys held out hand, presumably to heal Artie. He remembered how quickly Emrys had healed when Artie had punched him yesterday. Had it really been just yesterday that they escaped from the safe house?

 

Artie’s heart traitorously sped up when Emrys took off his glove. For a single exciting moment he thought Emrys was going to touch him, but no. His heart sank when the long, pale hand hovered a few millimeters away. He couldn’t even enjoy the warmth of Emrys’ magic because he was too busy thinking of where he had felt it before.

 

“Persephone told me this was your choice,” Emrys was saying, tone flat as ever and giving Artie had no way of knowing whether the other man was upset or not. “It was very foolish of you.”

 

Ah, disapproving then. That was more or less par for the course ever since Artie had met the distant, inscrutable man. “I didn’t know I had to run everything I did by you,” he retorted. He touched the newly healed skin and was unsurprised when it didn’t even sting. “Thanks.” There was still nothing to be done about the shirt though.

 

“I have to admit, it was a very...creative method you used back there. Poor Bruce.”

 

Artie looked at him, incredulous. “Are you fucking kidding me? Bruce? That demon dog nearly sliced me in half! Look what it did to my shirt.”

 

Emrys’ lips twitched only slightly. “Such a shame,” he said.

 

And then he took off his fucking clothes. First the suit jacket, followed by the button down grey shirt, and finally, the light blue undershirt he wore beneath that. Artie stared at the exposed skin and licked his lips. Even in the dim corridor, he could see Emrys’ back was marred with scars of all shapes and sizes: long, jagged, twisting over other until it all just became a map of wounds. A map Artie wanted to touch, trace with his fingers first and then with his --

 

Artie blushed as Emrys gave him the undershirt. He pulled the shirt on quickly and hoped the poor lighting didn’t make his staring obvious. It wasn’t as if he was expecting something to happen here, although the idea had its appeal.

 

The shirt was too long for him, but it fit just fine across the shoulders. Artie couldn’t complain anyway because it was this or going around shirtless until they could get back home. A home he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to see anytime soon.

 

“Hey, Emrys?” Emrys finished buttoning up his shirt and looked at Artie questioningly. “How’s my father?”

 

The warlock froze. Artie prepared himself for the worst. Emrys’ answer surprised him. “I don’t know. I wish I could give you more information, but I cannot sense Earth so deep in the planes. I can assure you that your father was given the highest security possible.”

 

“I was supposed to have the highest security too,” Artie said bitterly.

 

Emrys reached out a hand to Artie. “Arthur, I - ”

 

“That was brilliant!” Artie jumped at Hades’ exclamation. He turned to Persephone. “Was it not absolute genius, my Queen? Truly inspired. I reckon it will take my pet a few years to bounce back from this loss.”

 

“Now that you have been thoroughly entertained, allow us our leave, Hades,” Emrys said impatiently.

 

He wondered what happened between them more Emrys to act so cold now. At Hades’ nod, Emrys turned and signaled Artie to follow him.

 

A hand clamped down around on Artie’s arm. Hades face was grave. “Keep heed, boy: When the deed is done, and the battle won, a king will rise, with his protector’s demise.”

 

Artie pulled his arm out of Hades’ grasp. “I don’t - what?”

 

The King and Queen were gone.

 

“Arthur!”

 

He jogged to catch up with Emrys.

 

“Hades said –”

 

“Hades talks too much and says very little. It would be better if you ignored half of what he says.”

 

Artie huffed at Emrys' imperious tone and tried once more. “He said something about a king and, uh - demise?”

 

“He is a god. Gods lie. Best to forget about it, Arthur. Besides, we still have one final stop before returning to Earth.”

 

As if that had been the cue it was waiting for, another one of those misty portal swirled in front of them, dreadful and inviting.

 

“Where to this time?” Artie asked.

 

“Swarga,” Emrys said,

 

“I’ll pretend that means something to me.”

 

“The Hindu heaven,” Emrys explained.

 

“Ah. Not another Hell then?”

 

Emrys smirked. “That depends on your point of view.”

 

Artie stood stock still and waited for the mist and dizziness to dissipate when they walked through. If the last few trips had taught him, it was sudden motions were bad.

 

Swarga was not what Artie was expecting.

 

It was a grey, drab looking office one might find on the lesser well off part of town. There was a plain Ikea standard desk on one side of the room. The lack of windows made the room a very depressing place to work in.

 

Yet, the small Indian woman sitting behind the desk with a giant head set around her neck was smiling at them pleasantly. She was quite possibly, one of the most beautiful women Artie had ever seen.

 

Emrys strode purposefully to her, his lips twisted in that fake polite smile he'd given the Sentry at the Gateway. “Namaste, Tilo.”

 

Tilo smiled in the shark-like way that both Persephone and Hel had. Artie was beginning to sense a pattern among the women of the Afterlives.

 

“Welcome, Hynafol.”

 

“Of course,” she said and turned back to Emrys. “Shall I inform His Lordship you have arrived?”

 

Emrys looked slightly horrified at such a prospect. “Ah, no. In fact, it is Chitragupta I need, not Indra. Although I would be honored to visit His Lordship at some other day.”

 

“As you wish.” Tilo didn’t seem to question it. She just waved toward the door off to the side. “Take a seat in the waiting room. Chitragupta will meet you in there shortly.”

 

“You’re a gem, Tilo.”

 

Tilo’s only response was to smile knowingly.

 

They went from one boring room to another. At least this one had a comfortable sofa in it. Artie flopped onto it immediately and moaned in relief as his muscles relaxed after hours of standing. A nap sounded really good right about now. He wondered how long it had been since Emrys had taken him from his room, but immediately shut down that line of thinking when it deviated to thoughts about Lance and Alexi.

 

Instead of sleeping like he wanted to, he glanced at Emrys. “Are you going to tell me what it was you wanted from Hel and Hades?”

*****

Merlin paused in his pacing and looked at Arthur. He always looked so goddamned earnest when he asked his questions that Merlin wished he could - No. Bad Merlin. Thoughts like that were not allowed.

 

“It’s so we can stop Mab.” He thought about the box resting against his ribcage, just below his heart. “Just killing her won’t do it.”

 

That got the prince’s attention. He sat up from the relaxed position he had adopted. “Why can't you kill her?” he asked, eyes wide and so very innocent. Eyes that had not seen death yet. Eyes that had not seen the end of the world. Eyes that had not seen his own two hands spill blood. Eyes that still had the bright sparkle of life in them.

 

How their roles had reversed, he mused. A thousand years ago, it would have been Arthur worrying at his lip, trying to think of strategies to get them out of this mess and Merlin would have provided the never ending stream of useless babble.

 

“It's a fail safe I put in place long time ago.” He smiled ruefully as he remembered the events that had necessitated the plan in the first place. “There is no person singularly capable of stopping me, but together, the Circle of Anfarwols come the closest. They can subdue me for a while, but only if at least six of them are present. There are times when only six are reborn to the Circle, sometimes more, sometimes all thirteen; during those times when the Circle has only six, it is imperative they be protected from me. It would be very easy for me to kill them, really, but for the spell – the theory of which is too complicated and completely unnecessary for you to know about. So you see, I physically cannot hurt Mab, because despite her venture into the Dark forces, she is still an Anfarwol. It makes her inconveniently smug, especially since she had been the only one to oppose the fail safe when I first enacted it.”

 

Arthur snorted. “I should have guessed you'd be the righteous type to look out for others by shooting yourself in the foot at the same time. But these things, they’ll kill her?”

 

“Not exactly. What Hel gave me will trap her soul and prevent it from passing through Avalon, making sure that she is not reborn. It’s a prison, essentially.”

 

“What about what you got from Hades?” At Merlin’s look, Arthur shrugged. “What? I may not have been there, but I know it wasn’t a social call.”

 

Merlin glanced at the hidden cameras around the room. “That is not a conversation for this place. Chitragupta should be here soon anyway. We can only hope Narada doesn't sense us first.”

 

“Narada?”

 

Merlin made a big show of taking a deep, fortifying breath. “The Gateway is only the entry point, whereas the exit changes every few decades, Narada is the Keeper of the map and the only being in the Universe who can travel between the planes, or Loka as they call it in Sanskrit, without needing the Gateway’s permission. And he is the biggest jackass I have ever had the misfortune to comes across in all of creation.”

 

Arthur grinned. It made his boyish face look even younger. “Who is this Chitragupta then? Old friend?”

 

“Something like that. He's much more tolerable than Narada at any rate, although still bitter about that poker game he lost against Loki and me four centuries ago. He owes me a _vahan_.”

 

“A what?”

 

“It's a – never mind. Point is, we need Chitragupta to get us the map out of the planes. Narada won’t give it to me directly, not without asking for something in return, but he will listen to Chitragupta. No one really knows why.”

 

“Why would anyone keep just one bloody map in whole of creation? That doesn’t seem too well thought out.”

 

Merlin smiled at Arthur’s confusion. “There were politics involved. Godly politics which, honestly, we are all better off not getting involved in. But this won’t take long. We’ll take the map, reassign Mab’s soul and then leave.”

 

“Wait, reassign what now?”

 

The door opened, and Merlin took absolutely no joy in leaving Arthur hanging. None at all. A short, dark skinned man stood there, his clothes flying every which way as he bounced into the room. Chitragupta was a godly dictograph of sorts. His job was to record the actions of all the humans on Earth and decide whether they went to Hell, Heaven, or were sentenced to the painful process of rebirth. He was one of the few gods who worked across the planes, assigning souls to a particular god or goddess. Merlin knew how busy the god was, so he appreciated him meeting them at such a short notice. Although, considering he was a god, he had probably “seen” their arrival well in advance just like Hel, Loki, and Hades had.

 

“Well, this is a surprise.” Chitragupta grinned widely, hands joined together in greeting.

 

Merlin returned the Namaskar. “Is it really?”

 

“Not at all!” Chitragupta said cheerfully. A tightly rolled parchment materialized before Merlin’s nose. “I already have what you need.”

 

“Finally a god who doesn’t dilly dally.” Merlin plucked the rolled paper from the air and handed over his own tightly rolled up paper. “I need a reassignment.”

 

Chitragupta raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you know what you are doing, Hynafol? Reassigning is dangerous business. It could be permanent if the Ledgers command it.”

 

The truth was that Merlin wasn’t sure. Reassigning a soul could have dire, irreversible consequences. But there were more important things than the soul of one misguided Anfarwol. He glanced at Arthur. Mab could have staged her attack any time she wanted in the last hundred years or so, but she had waited, bid her time until Arthur had come along. She didn’t just want to destroy the Order; she wanted to destroy Merlin. He cared little for his own life anymore, but Arthur - Arthur was still just a boy. He had a chance to live a life away from this mess, and he didn’t deserve to get caught in the crossfire.

 

“I’m certain,” Merlin assured Chitragupta.

 

The Record Keeper stared solemnly at Merlin. “Then it shall be done. But know this, if the Prism is denied the soul it demands, it will take one of its own accord. The Soul Snatcher cares little for good or evil, Hynafol.”

 

The room faded away, or more precisely, _they_ faded from the room.

 

“Where are we?” Arthur asked softly, like he was afraid of attracting the attention of unwanted lurkers.

 

Merlin touched the nearest solid object, brought his finger to his mouth and licked. It tasted like rosewater and cloves. “We’re in the Realm of Eternal Solitude.”

 

“What faith is that?” said Arthur.

 

“None. It’s home to the tired souls who want nothing but peace. Let’s keep moving. The exit is close by.”

 

“So what happens now? Back on Earth, I mean. What do we do?”

 

Merlin smiled at Arthur, but it came out more like a grimace. “Well, first of all, I want a fucking nap and tea, not necessarily in that order. How does that sound?”

 

“Fucking perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave your thoughts at my LJ masterpost [here!](http://phandomoftheowl.livejournal.com/3865.html)=D


	4. Part Three

“ _Papa _!”__

Artie swiveled around at the high pitched, childish giggle. A little girl of about four or five was running at him. She was dressed in period clothing reminiscent of the fifteenth century, the hem of which was coated in a thick layer of mud. When she showed no signs of slowing down, Artie braced himself for impact, but miraculously, impossibly, she ran _through_ him, red hair a fiery blur, and into the arms of a man standing behind him. 

“Emrys?” Artie gulped, the words stuck in his throat. “Where the hell am I?”

The last thing he remembered was leaving the Realm of Eternal Peace with Emrys. Not this Emrys - his Emrys. An Emrys who didn’t look like he was from a whole other era.

“Hello, my darling,” Emrys was saying to the little girl. “I see you're having fun.”

“Auntie Nyn made me dinner and she said that if I eated it all, I could practice and I did eated all my food. Even the icky chicken bits and we went to the clearing and I could – Papa! Papa, I could make fire balls like you showed me!”

Emrys gasped exaggeratedly and picked up the small girl, unmindful of the dirty dress. “That's very impressive. You didn't accidentally set something on fire, did you, love?”

“Oh, nothing at all.” The stern voice carried out the house the girl had come running out of. “Except the trees, a few birds, and the stables.” The little girl had hidden her face in Emrys' shoulder, as if that would protect her from the wrath of the woman inside.

“Amabel Halliwell!”

“Sorry, Papa,” Amabel muttered, lips stretched in a grin that showed how not sorry she actually was. “But the stables were empty!”

“That's better, obviously,” her father deadpanned.

When they went into the stone cottage through an old roughly hewn door, Artie was finally able to tear his gaze away from the door and looked around for Emrys, _his_ Emrys. But he seemed to be the only one here, whereever ‘here’ was. How had he gotten here in the first place? Was it another spell? Had they not left the planes? This didn’t feel like he was in any Afterlife. The little girl and Emrys had not even glanced at Artie.

“All right, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, or who put me here, but I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what is happening right the fuck now.” No sooner had he said that, a door shimmered into existence two feet away from him. “I hate you, whoever the fuck you are. I hate you very much.”

He debated being stubborn and staying right here, but that wouldn't help matters any. He had no choice but to go through the door.

The scene that greeted him on the other side of the door was a much different one.

The little girl -- Amabel - stood in the middle of the woods. She was older now, taller and less baby-faced. Artie would guess she was about eleven or twelve. A fire blazed next to her, but Artie could tell she was still very cold. He wondered where Emrys and that other woman were. Every so often he would hear sniffles from Amabel, but her face didn’t look tear-stained.

There were faint cries from the trees, calling for Amabel. It seemed she had run away from home. Artie crouched in front of her and went to place a hand on her shoulder. She probably couldn’t see him, but it was worth a shot, so he said, “Hey.”

Amabel’s head shot up, green eyes widened in terror and something else Artie couldn’t place. “It’s you!”

“I - what?” He fell back on his feet when she punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Hey, _stop that_.” Artie locked her thin wrists between his fingers. “How can you see me? You shouldn't be able to see me. Your father - ”

At the mention of Emrys, the little girl’s face turned sour again, and she hunched up her shoulders. “He’s stupid and his magic is stupid and I hate him. I never, ever want to be like him no matter what Auntie Nyn says.” The fire blazed higher and brighter as her anger rekindled.

Artie couldn’t help but smile. He had had a similar tantrum when he was her age, and at the time he had been very convinced there was no greater evil than his father.

“All right. Do you mind if I sit with you? It’s cold without a fire.” She scooted over on her log to make room for Artie and then went back to staring at the fire. “What’s your name, then?”

“Amabel Halliwell,” she said softly. “Why are you dressed like that? You look very odd.”

Artie smiled down at his jeans and tee-shirt. “I suppose I do. What are you doing all alone in the woods?”

Amabel's lips tugged into a small smile. “I am not alone. I have you here.”

He couldn't help but laugh at her cheek. “You can't hide from your father and, uh, Auntie Nyn, was it? - well you can't hide from them forever. They're probably worried about you, you know, it isn't safe for you out here.”

The voices calling for Amabel were getting closer. She could probably hear them too. He just had to make sure she didn't run off before Emrys could come fetch her. The fire crackled softly. Other than the distant rustles in the leaves, it didn't look as if there was anything Amabel had to worry about in the woods.

“I can take care of myself,” she bit out angrily. “You have no idea what I am capable of. No one does. Even Papa...” She trailed off and scowled at Artie. “My papa could not see you that day.”

“I'm surprised you even remember seeing me. That was a long time ago,” he pointed out.

“Was it? You seem to be wearing the same clothes.”

Artie chuckled under his breath. “Well, you're a sharp little bugger, aren't you?”

Her bright eyes reflected the fire. “You speak oddly too. Who are you?”

“I'm – ”

“ _Amabel_.” Emrys tore into the clearing, face flushed with worry. His hands reached through Artie's chest and scooped his daughter up in his arms. “Never run off like that ever again, do you understand?”

Amabel looked at Artie. “Yes, Papa.”

Artie turned away from the father-daughter duo sitting on the log. A door handle on a nearby tree told him it was his cue to leave.

It was quite late in the day this time, sunlight mostly gone from the dusky sky. He was in a wide crop field of some sort. Behind him was a crude but well kept barn. Distressed tones carried outside to where Artie stood. 

“Give me three hours,” a young woman was saying. “Three hours and I shall have the bastard dragged through the streets so that everyone may know of his treachery.”

“You will do no such thing.” That was Emrys. Artie would know his voice anywhere.

“He is a non-magical who broke law under your jurisdiction you and you are willing to let him go without punishment?”

“I cannot – will not – fault a man for that. He was only protecting his family. Besides, what will you tell his wife and children? That you had the man humiliated and killed because he was trying to feed them? Think, Amabel. These people are under our protection. They are our responsibility. You are no longer a little girl who can go throwing tantrums whenever you please.”

There was silence for a minute. Artie heard the birds chirp in the stale evening air. 

“What is this really about, love? You have been more brash than usual. Picking fights with boys in the lower town, almost revealing yourself to the whole street during Beltane, running off without telling your aunt or me. You know how fragile we are right now. The Circle is falling apart and our kind is being hunted like rabbits. The Order cannot afford -”

“The Order.” Amabel’s voice dripped with venom. “It’s always about the Order and your stupid king and protecting the innocent. Do you even care about me any more? Do you even remember what today is?”

“Of course I do,” Emrys said hesitantly. “It’s Thur -”

“My birthday. The day my mother died! The woman you once swore you loved. Have you forgotten all about her? Or was she just another pawn on your rise to greatness? Just another vessel so you could use and then toss away once you had what you wanted. Another _Emrys_. You probably discarded her like trash the minute she shoved me out!”

“Amabel, that’s enough.” Artie hadn’t realized he had said the words until Amabel’s glare fixed onto him.

He hadn’t even been aware of when his feet led him inside the barn. He was glad he came in when he did, because Amabel stood frozen with dangerous light pulsing in her fingers. She was going to use magic on her own father. She was almost as old as him now, and for a moment Artie was afraid she didn’t recognize him. He relaxed only when her fingers stopped glowing green. 

“I -- I was just...”

Emrys looked at her worriedly and looked to where Amabel was gazing. Artie held his breath, even though he knew her father wouldn’t be able to see her. 

“I wasn’t going to -- to use --”

Artie didn’t know if she was talking to her father or to him, but he nodded nevertheless. Whatever quarrels Emrys had with his daughter were between the two of them. He had no right to be here, to mediate like he had any authority, but he knew a little about a mother’s death driving wedges in families. 

“Don’t do this,” Artie whispered. “It won’t bring her back, and I know that’s what you really want.”

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her that Emrys loved her and that he hadn’t forgotten her mother, whoever that may have been, but his time was up. He cursed whoever was in charge of the blasted doors for their horrible timing. The scene began to fade around him

He was by a lake now, and with the sun was setting off in the distance, painting the sky a deep bloody red, it might have been a gorgeous, almost romantic moment any other time. 

Today, it was the backdrop for a funeral.

It was a very unique funeral, Artie had to admit. The deceased was being lowered in a boat on the bank of the lake, on a bed of flowers and leaves. On the bank of the lake stood Amabel, a few years older than him. Silent tears streamed down her face, but she stood tall and proud and Artie was reminded of lessons with his instructor on how to act like the perfect prince.

Amabel reached a hand out and wrapped it around Emrys' elbow.

Both their clothes were different too, Artie noticed. Amabel was wearing trousers and leather tunic in the same style he had seen Gwaine wear. She also had two swords with intricate runes carved in the blades strapped around her waist.

“Go, Rhyfylwr Amabel. Give your Anfarwol and athro the Farewell.” Emrys nudged Amabel toward the watery pyre.

She strode forward in a perfect military march and stopped at the base of the boat, where she whipped one of the swords out, steel hissing as it sliced the air, and laid it flat against the dead woman's chest. Amabel kissed the knuckles that held the hilt of the blade, and moved back a few inches, still on her knees.

“Cenllysg a ffarwel, Anwarfol Nyneve.”

Four other similarly dressed men and women stepped up on either side on Amabel.

“Earth to earth,” they chanted in unison. A jet of deep brown shot from the farthest Marchog, and soil sprinkled itself on Nyneve's body.

“Air to air.” Silver swirls pushed the boat away from the shore. Artie watched as Amabel trembled, but held fast.

Emrys was looked straight ahead, over the beautifully decorated boat of the dead woman.

“Fire to fire.” Quick as flash, hot red fire engulfed the center of the boat.

“Water to water.” The last Marchog held out his hand, and bubbles began pulling the boat down below.

“Spirit to spirit. May Avalon preserve you.” Amabel finished with a streak of pure, brilliant white. 

Artie averted his eyes despite knowing the brightness wouldn't harm him. He blinked them open immediately, not wanting to miss anything important.

Almost everyone except Amabel and Emrys looked away. He was glad he risked the white light, otherwise he would have missed the single, slender, pale hand that broke the surface and pulled Nyneve under the surface before the flames licked up every last essence of her physical form.

The moment faded.

He was in an office of some kind, if the shelves of heavy tomes on three of the four walls were any clue. A newspaper on a nearby table told him it was 1786.

Artie looked toward the desk that had not been there two seconds ago. Emrys and Amabel stood on either side of it, arguing once again. This time, it seemed Amabel wanted to raid a fortress somewhere by the coast. Detailed maps and plans were strewn across the desk and Amabel stabbed a finger at a maze of hidden underground tunnels. 

“They are hiding here, deep in the valley. I’ll take fifty of our strongest warriors and we’ll attack from the eastern side at twilight. The element of surprise will be on our side and within hours, the rogues will surrender to us.”

“Corinth will not surrender. He just lost his son and he has always been hotheaded. Besides, he knows the price for breaking the oath is death. He will prefer a battle where others might call him a martyr.” Emrys' voice sounded tired, like a man who had been having the same argument for hours, but whose position had not budged.

“He’s a traitor to the Order. How long before he gains a following and storms the school to get to you? Corinth wants you dead, Father. He wants to destroy the peace we have tried so hard to build with the non-magical populous.”

Emrys sighed. “All right. But I want him brought here alive. I wish to know why he broke his oath.”

“Yes, Father.” Amabel crossed her arms and gave a firm nod. 

Artie caught her eye, but Amabel did not speak to him. 

Oddly enough, no door materialized this time. A thick fog filled the room and when it dissipated, Artie’s location had changed. He was in a nearly empty court room. Seven men and women sat in place of the judge. Their plaques had different titles: Cysefins, Anfarwols, and Hynafol Merlin Emrys at the center. A shackled man stood before them, held in place by Amabel’s grip. His face was bruised and dirty, but he had the strength to glare at everyone. There was no jury, there were no witnesses. There was no one other than the panel, the guards, and the prisoner. 

“Corinth, formerly Cysefin of the Order, has been brought in front of the panel to answer to his crimes of murder, treason, and conspiracy against the Order,” one of the Cysefin read off her parchment. “How do you plead?” 

“Guilty,” snarled Corinth. “For all but ‘conspiracy against the Order’, Cysefin Geliza. For it is not the Order I conspired against, but your so-called _leader_ who sits there with his self-righteousness, proud and convinced of his cause even when our children are killed because of his pointless quests.The one who abandoned our kind and allowed them to be slaughtered at the hands of the non-magical to chase after ghost stories of lost kings. You are nothing but a lost old man, Emrys, and your fall will come, and with it, the Order shall follow.”

One of the Anfarwol’s glared at the prisoner. “Take him away until the panel decides on his punishment.”

Amabel never looked away from Emrys through Corinth’s defence. There was a flicker of something in her eyes Artie was afraid to name when the shackled man boldly declared that the Order would fall. This time she did not want to see him or could not see him.

Artie left though a door as the prisoner was dragged out. 

Amabel was alone in a dark bedroom this time. She seemed to be frantically searching for something in the drawers. 

“What are you doing?”

She froze, and Artie knew she had just been ignoring him last time. 

When she spoke, her voice was low and angry. “Just go away. This does not concern you.”

Artie scoffed. “Believe me, if I could, I would leave at the drop of a hat. But I can’t because someone is being a spiteful prick, so either I just hang around and watch you skulk, or you tell me what you’re doing.”

“Why? Who are you to me anyway? You show up every few hundred years for few minutes at a time and then you leave. I owe you nothing.” There was an uncertain waver that told Artie she was trying to be as quiet as possible.

Amabel crossed the room and placed something on the bed: it was a note. The faint moonlight hit her face for a second and Artie saw the panic in her eyes, the terror on her face as she turned away from the bed. 

“You’re running away,” Artie realized.

“I’m doing what is best.”

“For whom?” Artie demanded in a vain effort to keep her from leaving.

“For everyone. The non-magical threaten us with war, and he refuses to take action against them. They have killed too many and I can’t let that abide anymore. I’ll leave, come back when I have enough support and then go to my father. Maybe he will understand eventually, then we can fight them together,” she said in a wistful tone. “But till then, I have to make my own way. I have to find proof to convince my father that his _king_ isn’t ever coming back. He won’t listen to reason otherwise.”

Artie understood then, how this would play out. The memories of coming events flashed in his mind’s eye. How the years would change Amabel’s desire of fighting alongside her father to fighting against him. He didn’t know what proof she would or would not find, but he knew it would be enough to turn her against everything she held dear. It would take a over a century until she was strong enough, and somewhere in between, she would come back to her father and ask him to side with her on her quest to rid the world of the non-magical. ‘A shining utopia’ she would call it, but Merlin would cringe away from her and officially cast her out as he learned of her more heinous plans. 

It would be Amabel Halliwell, Anfarwol of the Order who would leave this school, but it was Mab who would never truly return. 

The memories left him as suddenly as they had come. He gasped and tried to scramble for reality. Amabel shut the drawer. It seemed she had found what she was looking for. She gathered her single bag and stalked to the door. Just before she left, she turned back to him. 

“You never told me your name,” she whispered in the darkness.

Artie shook his head and smiled sadly. “Goodbye, Mab.” 

There was a door waiting for him. 

*****

  


_Saturday, June 18, 2031_.

As expected, the last door sent him tumbling to his proper time. He was breathless and his head throbbed relentlessly, but it was nothing pain-killers couldn’t fix. He was on a bed somewhere and for one terrifying moment Artie was afraid he had dreamt the whole...everything. He feared he had never met Emrys and they had never visited Loki and Hades and he hadn’t defeated a three headed dog. 

His dread abated a little when he noticed a few familiar faces hovering around his bed. 

“Alexi!” He jolted upright too quickly and hissed as pain lanced through his head. He leaned back onto the pillows quickly.

“Take it easy, Artie. You were out for a while there. Lance here had his knickers all twisted with worry.”

Artie took them both in. They were both pretty banged up: Alexi’s arm was in a cast and Lance was walking with the help of a crutch, but they both looked _alive_ , and that was all that mattered. He grinned at them, truly happy for the first time in days. “Not dead, I see.”

“Of course not. What would you do without us?” Lance grinned at him. It had only been a few days, but Artie felt like it had been ages since he saw them. 

“What happened?” he asked them. The pounding in his head had muted somewhat, but it was still present. 

“No one knows,” Alexi explained, eyebrows furrowed agitatedly. “You sort of just...fell asleep and didn’t wake up for a day. You had a concussion, but there was no blow that delivered it.”

“You fainted, Princess,” a vaguely familiar, obnoxious voice said from behind Lance. Artie craned his neck and sighed at Gwaine. He was all right too. He was glad they were all okay, really, even if he might not have known Gwaine all that long. But -- “Where’s M - Emrys?”

His tongue was ready to curl around the familiar/unfamiliar name, but something stopped him. He knew it wouldn’t be prudent to say it around anyone else first. 

“He was here a second ago, but he went to receive an important parcel.” Alexi sat on the bed and squeezed his arm with her good hand. “How are you? When Emrys brought you in here, unconscious and bleeding from your temple, I thought - I almost fought Em.”

Artie snorted, glad that she hadn’t actually gone through with it. He was a little disappointed that only Alexi, Lance, and Gwaine were there when he woke. Sleep was calling to him once more, so he couldn’t dwell on that much longer. He remembered muttering something about ‘would he be here?’ to Lance as he was lulled in by darkness.

The second time he woke up, he felt Merlin's long slender fingers at the nape of his neck, soothing his hair. Gloved as they were, the tender touch was unmistakable. Artie smiled and looked up at the warlock through sleep-blurred eyes. It was just the two of them in the room this time. 

“You slept for quite some time there,” Merlin commented, fingers never ceasing their gentle motion. 

Artie smacked his dry lips. “Water,” he croaked out. 

Merlin helped him sit up and pressed a hospital standard plastic cup to his lips. Artie drank the water greedily, smiling to himself when Merlin didn’t remove his hand even once. The prolonged contact gave him the confidence to hoarsely whisper, “I met Mab.” A little demon on his shoulder cheered as conflicted emotions slipped into the warlock’s eyes. Artie foolishly went on. “So. You have a daughter who wants to kill me, apparently. Top class parenting skills... _Merlin_.”

The effect was instantaneous and it left Artie with a sudden chill despite the many blankets. Merlin's fingers slipped away from his neck, and curled into a fist in his lap. Artie cursed himself as the mask fell back into place, hiding Merlin’s emotions from him. 

So Artie did the only thing he could think of. It was wild and mad and he didn't know what made him forget that one golden rule that he had been reminded of many times over the last few days. But all of a sudden Artie was tugging at Merlin’s wrist - and then they were kissing. 

*****

Merlin froze as Arthur’s soft, clumsy lips pressed against him in some semblance of a kiss. _You fool_ , was all he could think as he reached up and grabbed Arthur by the nape of his neck to push him away, but his fingers wouldn’t obey him. The boy wasn’t having any of it either, and Merlin knew why. His touch was addictive once the memories began. The memories of a white castle with it’s majestic turrets, a father crazed by the death of his wife, and a son destined to unite the lands under one rule, indivisible and liberated from it’s dark ages with the help of a sorcerer, a friend. 

Arthur -- the Arthur of now, the stupid boy kissing him -- gasped as images of a lifetime flooded through the mental block. There was nothing Merlin could do to stop them. He mentally cursed himself when he let himself be drawn closer to Arthur. This wasn’t right. Arthur was just...fuck he was only _seventeen_ and Merlin was a dirty old pervert and if Morgana ever found out, she would probably seal him up in a tree for all eternity. But then there was Arthur, pressed against him, warm and so, very real, and Merlin didn’t want to step away. He didn’t kiss back, but he did very little to stop the inexperienced fumble of Arthur’s hands and lips and was that his -- oh well, Arthur _was_ seventeen. 

He refused to chase after Arthur’s lips when they finally broke apart. He had some modicum of self control still left in him. 

“Merlin.”

Merlin had to smile at his awed expression. “Yes, sire.”

“I... I’m. I’m a _boy_.”

Merlin laughed at the bemused expression on Arthur’s face. “Yes, you are.”

“And you’re not. Bloody hell, you’re very much not.” The young prince looked at him expectantly, and a savage, animalistic urge tore through Merlin when Arthur licked his lips. Merlin tamped down his dangerous thoughts and flinched away when Arthur reached to cup his face, but it didn’t deter the bastard. This was a terrible idea that would complicate matters more than they already were. 

Things became heated too quickly and Merlin had to capture Arthur’s wandering hand before things could go any further. 

Arthur -- the idiot -- seemed to take Merlin’s restraint as rejection. He flushed and looked at Merlin through hooded eyelids. “Was that - was I doing something wrong? I mean, I know I haven’t before and you probably have with loads of --”

“Shut up,” Merlin growled. Arthur’s eyes widened at his harsh command and Merlin regretted his words immediately. “You’re not doing anything wrong.” He pressed the proof of how right Arthur was against Arthur’s thigh. 

The narrow hospital bed jostled as Arthur jerked back and hit his head against the metal rods behind his head. “Oh,” he said, breathlessly, and arched up slowly, his own obvious erection rubbing against Merlin’s stomach. 

They shouldn’t be doing this, Merlin thought wildly, but then Arthur let out a pleading moan and all of Merlin’s objections flew out of the window. With a quick flick towards the hospital doors, Merlin climbed onto the small bed. 

Arthur deserved this to be done right, and he would be damned if he was going to let the Matron of the ward stop him. 

*****

Artie blinked his eyes open blearily. He was disappointed but unsurprised to find that Merlin wasn’t with him anymore. _He has things to do_ , he chastised the childish voice inside his head. _Things more important than sitting next to you all day long_ \-- or was it night? He had no idea what day or time it was. There were no windows in the hospital ward, so making a vague guess was out. 

He looked down at himself and took a moment to mentally thank Merlin for cleaning him up. There was a nurse hovering by his bedside, smiling down at him, a vial of clear blue liquid and cup of water in hand.

He gulped the medicine down in one go and grimaced at the foul, burning taste. “Ack. Tell me I don't have to take any more of those.”

The nurse's smile manic grin was the last thing he saw before darkness overtook him.

Well, shit.

*****

Artie gasped in shock as frigid water jerked him out of his drug-addled haze. He tried to take a deep breath but his lungs refused to function properly. Fucking hell, how had he been so stupid to accept that vial of potion? There was barely enough time to brace himself in time for another dunking in icy water.

For that matter, when had his life become a string of B-rate Hollywood plot lines?

He strained against the fingers pulling at his hair and tested the bindings around his wrist. They were made of some kind of rope. It wasn't rough against his skin or anything, but it didn't give way. He remembered Merlin – the older Merlin, or was it the younger Merlin? Fuck this was going to get confusing fast – telling him about magical bindings. Memories of his last life crowded the fore front of his mind. It was confusing, trying to sift through to try and place which events happened when.

He tried to decipher his surroundings, but there was little to no light in this room, and the continuous water streaming down his face wasn’t helping any. There was a click of a lock opening from the right side of the room, giving him a reprieve from another dunking. 

“Oh my, what have we here?”

Artie snorted at Mab’s mock surprised tone and winced when it caused him to hack out water lodged his nose and mouth. There was a click clack of heels against the floor and Mab stood right in front of Artie’s kneeling form. His knees hurt from being on the ground for - how long had he been here anyway? 

Mab - Amabel - leaned down until she was face to face with Artie. Her eyes were the same deep, moss green a few hours and many many centuries ago. She gripped Artie’s chin in her fingers and tutted. 

“Such a pretty face. I’ll be sad to see it go.”

“Ama -” 

She struck him hard across the face with the back of her palm. “You do not get to call me that, you filthy mortal.” 

Artie’s head rung with the force of her hit. He felt blood trickle down the side of his mouth where her ring had cut into his skin. He licked it away and grinned. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with then?”

Mab stepped away and as she did, Artie noticed an odd looking sigil on her shoulder. It was a single flaming chariot wheel with fairy-like wings on either side of it; the wheel had thirteen spokes. “Kill you? Oh, you precious little thing. I’m not going to kill you until my dear, dear father is here, watching as I cut your skin and make you bleed into this floor.” She glared at the walls, her green eyes flashing dangerously. “But not before he gives me what I want. Do you know where we are?”

Artie blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Um...”

“We’re in the cottage where I was born. A fitting place for your death, don’t you agree? You, a prince of nothing and a king of nowhere. Your time is gone, Once and Future King, and soon the Hynafol shall realize it too.” 

Artie snorted, unimpressed. “Wow. You’ve sort of got the bad guy speech down pat, with the hand waving and the righteous glaring and the appropriate emphatic fist pumping. Are you going to reveal your whole evil plan to take over the world in full detail next?”

Mab strode back toward him in three quick steps and jerked at his hair more roughly than the guards. “Why, you insolent pri --” He stared at her a little cross-eyed because of her close proximity. “Ah. It seems you’ve been allowed to Remember.”

“He didn’t allow me jack shit. I took what I wanted.” Artie smirked.

She stared down at him, eyes hard and blank, and Artie could see Merlin in her just then. “So you did. Don’t fool yourself into thinking he _loves_ you, though. I doubt he even knows the meaning of the word anymore. Everyone is just a tool for him, especially you: ‘The king who would return.’ He wasted years on you, traveling across the world in search of clues for your return. Seven hundred years I watched him throw everything away time and again, for you. He killed my mother and my unborn brother for you. We were nothing next to the great _Arthur Pendragon_. And look at you now.” She aimed a swift kick to his solar plexus that had Arthur doubling over in pain and scrunching his eyes against the pain. “Pathetic. Weak. Insignificant.”

Artie didn’t want to believe her; couldn’t bring himself to lose his faith in Merlin. _I was a king_ , Arthur wanted to say, _eons ago when kings mattered and nobility meant something. Once I was a king who made a difference with the help of a friend_. 

Now Arthur wasn’t sure what he was anymore. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Merlin wronged you, I really am. Punish me all you want, but spare the rest of humanity. They don’t deserve to be slaughtered for his misdeeds.” 

“It isn’t slaughter. It’s sacrifice. My father tried for peace between the magical and non-magical, but they didn’t want peace. They butchered us whenever they felt threatened - a tradition started by your father if I’m not mistaken - and when that was not enough, they came into our homes and killed us in our sleep. That, naive prince, is slaughter. I am merely cleansing humanity of its filth, starting with you.” 

Amabel touched his forehead with her index finger. “Don’t worry. It’ll only sting, I promise. The real show is later.”

It was a sting, one that spread through his mind like wildfire, down his spine until it felt as if every inch of his body was being covered in hundreds and hundreds of bees all taking a stab at him. The two guards let him go abruptly; Arthur hit the cold stone floor with a loud smack. He didn’t even notice he had bit his tongue until blood dribbled out the side of his mouth. He wiped at it with the back of his palm, not that it was of much use since his hand was shaking violently. He tried to speak, to scream Mab’s name, but nothing came out. Apparently, she had silenced his voice. 

They left him there, shivering on the ground as the pain transformed. The door shut behind Mab with a final clang. It no longer felt like bees were trying too devour him, but there were perfect incisions forming on his body. Blood poured out of him until his hospital clothes were soaked and dripping. He tried to claw at the torn skin, but there was too much blood. His fingers kept slipping and oh fuck, what was that crawling under his skin? Arthur kicked his legs uselessly and watched horrified as swarms of botflies flew out of the cuts in his skin. 

There was a voice reaching out to him in the deepest caverns of his mind, but he was too lost in pain to latch onto it. 

He wondered if the others even knew he was gone yet. They had to have realized something was amiss. Merlin’s face floated through his mind and he knew that he was coming for Arthur. Merlin always came for Arthur. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted the warlock to come this time. 

For the first time in centuries, Arthur was alone. 

*****

“Artie’s gone!” 

Merlin looked up from Hel’s parcel at Morgana’s frazzled face. “Yes,” he said mildly, putting the Prism away in his coat pocket. “I felt him being taken.”

Morgana glared at him, shock rendering her speechless.

“He is meant to be a trap,” Merlin explained. “Mab wants to punish him for my imagined crimes, and she knows the best way to accomplish that is to take Arthur from me.” 

“You knew? You knew this whole time and you did nothing?” she said, her face colored in disbelief. “How long has he been gone? Mab could have done anything to him. He could be dead for -”

Merlin raised a hand in a placating gesture. “He isn’t dead. Arthur would be of little use to Mab dead.”

“God, you’re a fucking bastard.” 

Merlin turned away from her. There was nothing he could say that would appease her anyway. “Have everyone ready to leave soon. We Portal in half an hour.” 

Once he was a ways away from Morgana, he reached into the recesses of his mind to track down Ama -- Mab. It wasn’t too difficult since she wanted him to come to her. Mab always favoured the dramatics. He knew her particular brand of torture. He had lived it once a long time ago. She took the person and she would ply them with horrific illusions, making him crave a death she would not grant any time soon. 

He wanted to be there with Arthur to stop Mab from destroying him. But he didn’t dare; not yet at least. The time had to be right. What was the use in creating a convoluted plan if he did not stick to it?

Merlin was reassured in the knowledge that Kilgarrah would do what needed to be done once Arthur was coherent enough; too much hinged on it for the Great Dragon to fail.

Lancelot was the first to arrive and it was obvious Morgana had told him Merlin knew about Arthur’s disappearance. Unlike her, he did not scream or throw insults. 

“Was it for a good reason?” he asked, calm and restrained. Merlin could tell it was taking every ounce of energy for him to not run Merlin through with his sword. 

“I need you to trust me,” Merlin said. 

That was not the answer Lancelot had been hoping for, but it was enough. He nodded and stood to attention on Merlin’s left, eyes angry and staring straight ahead, always the perfect soldier. 

The others trickled in in pairs and groups, and they stood according to rank behind him. Early on, Merlin had hated this, the ranks and the salutes and the ‘yes, sir.’ Things had been different then, for those had been simpler times and his people were not being hunted. Everything changed when Amabel’s mother died at the hands of a duke because he merely suspected she had magic. He also killed their unborn son. Merlin never told Amabel the real story, and that was a mistake he had regretted a thousand times over since then. 

After that day, Merlin vowed to protect his people but never at the cost of innocent life. He didn’t want to be another Uther. There had been times when he had been tempted to cross that line and Amabel’s impulsive attitude had not helped. Someone had to be the voice of reason, and Merlin had stayed his hand from doling out severe punishments. That, more than anything, had fueled Mab’s belief of his apathetic nature. 

Even so it felt too much like a kingdom sometimes and he had forgotten how important the little things like trust and friendship and love were along the way. And Arthur, in a span of just a few days, had reminded him of it. 

Morgana was the last to come, her face determined and fierce. She didn’t look at him, but her head jerked in a minute nod. _It’s fine_ , the nod said. _I always knew you were a cunt, but he’s my brother and my king and fuck if I’m letting you stop me from destroy the fuckers that took him._

And Merlin nodded back, because that was all the apology she needed. 

*****

_Sunday, June 19, 2031._

_Arthur. Wake up, young prince. Wake and see the pain for what it is: an illusion_. 

_Liar_! Arthur wanted to shout at the phantasmal voice. It was the voice he had been hearing since this torture began. Since the bees and the cuts and the thin sheet of ice that coated his skin when the bleeding stopped. The relief he had felt for the numbness taken away when fire erupted on his skin, burning it to a crisp, and when the salt that had been rubbed into his wounds, hiding away in every crevice of his torn, dried, skin. It wasn’t the torture that was an illusion; it was the voice giving him hope. 

_I never lie. Look in your heart, young one, and tell me what you see_.

What sort of question was that? What heart? He could barely tell apart his fingers from his nose, and the voice wanted him to look at his heart? It was a stupid endeavor anyway. The voice was just in his head - another means of hurting him. 

_Well, all right. If not your heart, then reach into your pocket_.

Sassy little voice, wasn’t it? And a bit thick. Arthur was wearing hospital clothes, they had no pockets. At this point he was wearing nothing but blood soaked rags anyway. 

_Look again_. 

Exasperated with himself and the voice in his head - did this make him officially unhinged? - he did, with a mental retort of ‘nothing there. See?’ ready. He was stumped when he turned out to be wrong. Arthur was wearing his jeans again, and the shirt Merlin gave him. His wounds were still open, but it didn’t hurt and the clothes were miraculously clean.

What the fuck?

_Indeed_. The voice had a smug tone to it.

Arthur told it to shut up, because seriously, what? 

_Your pocket, child_. 

Arthur uselessly swatted at the air next to his head. His hands were stiff from laying in one position for too long. The incompliant joints creaked a bit and his cracked skin made repugnant sounds, but he decided not to think about that for now. He reached down slowly, ignoring the bits of skin flaking and falling to the floor. 

_Not the left one! The right pocket_.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Arthur said to the empty room, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He reached into his right pocket and -- 

Well. All right then. He wasn’t quite sure how the revolver had gotten in his pocket, or for that matter how he had gotten clothes that had pockets in the first place, but he wasn’t going to kick a horse in its ass, or whatever that saying was. 

_Kick a gift horse in the mouth_. 

Arthur grinned at the voice’s annoyed words. _So what do I do with it_?

_You use it_.

No shit. He didn’t say that though since the voice had been very helpful so far and he didn’t want to risk annoying it too much. _I haven’t held a gun since I was eight. My mum came in and saw and...um, I was never allowed to handle a gun after that_. 

_Perfect. You have the basics down. From what I understand, this particular brand of weaponry requires little skill. Let the weapon speak you. You are her master, after all_. The stupid voice sounded so goddamned pleased with himself. As if three seconds of gun holding over ten years ago was havining ‘the basics down’.

_Great. First I hear voices in my head and now I have to talk to a gun. Just brilliant_. 

He sat up, marveling at how easy it was to move once more. He leaned against the wall and propped a knee up, and rested his elbow against it as he brought the gun closer to his face. Arthur stared at it intently and told himself not to feel too idiotic for talking to an inanimate object. 

“Uh, hey gun. How’s it going? I’m Arthur. Well, King Arthur - sort of. I’m a prince really, but also a King. I remember being a king, mostly. Like memories that aren’t really mine. Almost like, I watched a movie a really long time ago and bits of the scenes keep coming back. It’s annoying mostly since I don’t actually feel kingly. Enough about me, though. What’s your name?” The gun warmed in his palm and let out a trill Arthur felt in his chest cavity. He almost dropped it out of the sheer incredulity. “Holy mother _fuck_!”

Another burst of warmth. It was like the gun was laughing at him. 

_Excalibur_. 

It wasn’t the voice this time, nor was it a new voice. There was no-one saying the word, but Arthur knew that was her name. His Excalibur. He looked at the empty cylinder and smiled as the door opened with a rusty grind.

“All right, girl, don’t let me down.” 

_Be careful, Prince_.

_Oh, I don’t plan on it_. 

After centuries of being locked up, Excalibur sang in her king’s hand.

*****

 

Even over the distance separating them, Merlin felt the reverberations of Excalibur’s first shot ring through his bones. “That’s our cue.” 

He led everyone -- not many, since most of were protecting the city, where Mab’s company waged the real war -- through the Portal. He knew what waited for his warriors out there: monsters, dark wizards, demons, fairies, and bored gods who liked bloodshed a little too much. 

The Portal had dropped them off in the old parlour. There was little left of the cottage they had once lived in. Mab had expanded and fortified it. The homely essence was gone from it and now it was nothing more than a cesspool of dark energy. 

Lancelot ordered and split them into two teams. “Spread out. Lay low and keep a sharp eye out for Prince Arthur.” Gun shots sounded from over head, and the warrior grinned. “It shouldn’t be too hard. If you come across Mab –”

“Leave Mab to me,” Merlin cut across Lancelot, who glanced at Morgana for a moment before nodding at Merlin. 

“Move.”

They scattered and slipped amongst the shadows while Merlin followed Mab’s magic. He found her in her old bedroom, sitting on the windowsill and for a second she could have just been watching the stars as Nyneve sang her to sleep. 

She turned away from the dark sky. “Hello, Father.”

“Amabel.”

“I expected you to send one of your Marchogs after me. I was just watching my babies work.” She pointed at a crystal basin on the bedside table. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” she asked as a particularly vicious nundu tore into one of the Sidhe. 

Merlin smiled as Kali, wild and wrathful, came up behind the nundu and broke its spine over her knee, her necklace of skulls jangling ominously. “It’s certainly what you always wanted. My forces fighting against yours in a never ending strife. I wager it will a long time before either side folds and there will be many pointless lives lost.”

Mab scoffed dismissively and banished the crystal basin out of sight. “Necessary collateral, and currently irrelevant.”

“Everyone is irrelevant to you, Mab. You take what you want with no regard to whom you hurt.” Merlin ran a finger along the dust-caked footboard of Mab’s bed. 

“I learned from the best.” Mab shrugged. She slid a wicked grin, not unlike the ones she would give him when she had stolen dessert from the kitchens. “You know I have the prince.”

“Obviously. Just like you know he escaped.” There was another gunshot from somewhere in the house. 

“Yes, neat trick. How did you manage it?”

“Come now, Amabel, I can’t tell you all my secrets.”

Mab’s face darkened. “Don’t lie, Father, it’s unbecoming. You never trusted me with any of your secrets.” 

He felt the strike of green fire coming before Mab had cast it, but he didn’t dodge away from it. Nor did he lift a hand to stop the next one. If he had been anyone else, her green fires would have killed him in an instance, but few burns weren’t going to hurt Merlin; he had sustained worse when training her anyway.

“I’m not here to fight you, Mab.” Merlin gritted his teeth through the pain and held steady. “I’m _done_ fighting.”

His words only served to anger her further. She brought both her palms up and pushed out toward Merlin, and the white-hot energy bubble threw him out of her room through the wall. Bricks clattered around him and in the time it took for him to blink the dirt out of his eyes, Mab was no longer in front of him. 

He heard footsteps pounding around the corner. 

“ _Merlin_?”

Just hearing his voice, sent a shiver of relief down Merlin’s spine. “Arthur.” Merlin shoved the debris off him and stood up to take a good look at him. Arthur was sporting a few scratches, and one of his shirt-sleeves was torn off, but overall, he seemed fine. He nodded toward the Excalibur in his hands. “Getting reacqua - nmpfh.” He smiled into the quick, harsh kiss. “I’m glad you’re all right, too.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said gustily, lips stretched in a sheepish grin, while his hand was still clenched around Merlin’s coat collar. A loud explosion shook the ground beneath them, causing Arthur turned back to him with a desperate expression. “Tell me you have a plan.”

Merlin tilted his head in a way that wasn't very reassuring. “Sort of.”

“Yeah?” Arthur looked at him expectantly. 

“Mab is going to the crypts.” He ignored Arthur’s mutter of ‘Of course you have crypts’ and went on. “When she captured you, did she say anything striking? Anything that might pop out?”

Arthur blinked at him. “Oh, just the usual ‘I hate my father and die, mortals die!’” he deadpanned. “Also, she mentioned something about making me bleed into the floor. Pretty much standard Villainy 101.”

“It’s just as I thought,” Merlin remarked. But she couldn’t have everything she needed -- could she? Unless she knew that... but that was impossible. He shook his head at the phantom Mab in his head. 

“What? Thought what? Don’t do that.” At Merlin’s enquiring glance, Arthur said, “That thing where you have a plan and you don’t tell me. I know you have a plan. I want to know the plan. Merlin!” He gave Merlin the most pathetic kicked dog expression; the same one that used to land Merlin in the stocks every other week. 

So Merlin told him the plan, assured in the knowledge that at least this time there were no stocks he could be thrown into.

When he was done, Arthur glared at him. “That's a terrible plan. You call that a plan? I hate that plan. I veto that plan.”

“You're a prince. You don't get to veto my plan.” Merlin cocked a smirk at Arthur and wiped the blood off his chin. 

“Think of a better plan then.” Merlin just shook his head. “I hate you. I hate you very much, you bastard.”

*****

Arthur descended into the crypts with Merlin, Excalibur at the ready. He still wasn’t sure about this shitty plan, but Merlin believed it could work, and Arthur was going to trust him.

Above him, he could hear sounds of Alexi and Lance and Gwaine fighting Mab’s troops. 

“Uh,” Arthur whispered in the dark. “Should we have told someone about where we’re going?”

“No,” came Merlin’s curt reply. 

_Of course not. Why send for backup when we can just die down here because your daughter has daddy issues?_

Arthur felt for the bullet Merlin had given him upstairs, making sure it was easily accessible. He had already loaded the purple colored one, but for some reason he wasn’t supposed to load the green one until Merlin told him to. Long lost memories or quests came back to him, the times when it used to be just Merlin and him, destroying one monster after another. 

He looked over Merlin’s shoulder around a heavy stone coffin. Mab was not alone in the eerie basement, not that he had really expected her to be, but just once would it hurt for the universe to go his way? She was bent over a pulpit in the back corner of the dungeon - although this place was too dry and well-lit to be called a dungeon - with her back to them, chanting something in a obscure tongue. 

“Uh, that’s not English, is it?”

“Not exactly,” Merlin said cryptically. 

He pointed to the scrawny man standing next to her. The poor bloke looked like a light wind could blow him over. He said as much to Merlin, who said, “He is part of the ritual. The Mortal, the Protector, the King.”

Hades’ words came back to Arthur just then, but before he could ask Merlin about the Protector -- before he could say anything -- Merlin had moved into the light, attracting Mab’s attention. He motioned Arthur to stay where he was. 

“How long has it been since you’ve been down here, Hynafol?” Mab still had her back turned to him. “I can’t remember you ever visiting in the last two centuries.”

“Funnily enough, I believe it has been almost as long for you.”

Mab tensed, shoulders stiff and voice devoid of the mocking quality it always seemed to hold. “That was not my choice.”

“And yet, here you are without my permission.” Merlin spread a hand around the desolate looking place. “With me right where you’ve always wanted.”

It occurred to him then that this was the place where Mab’s mother was laid to rest, and was slightly disturbed knowing the bones were right next to him.

“And I thank you for it. Now I don’t have to looking for you.” Mab tsked and made a show of looking behind Merlin. “Don’t tell me you left the little prince behind.” He heard Merlin groan as he stood up from his crouch and glared at Mab. “Little bird has a toy now. Do you think you can stop me with _that_?”

Arthur raised Excalibur and took his mark. “I can try.”

Mab laughed, low and soft. “Let’s see which one is faster, shall we?” And before Arthur knew what was happening, Mab had grabbed the scrawny man by the scruff of his neck, and held him in front of her with a knife at his throat. “Your gun or my knife.”

Three things happened at once: Arthur pulled the trigger, knowing Excalibur’s shot would fire true, straight at Mab’s heart just as Mab, in one swift motion slit the throat of her hostage, and Merlin --

With a loud shout, Merlin was suddenly between them, directly in the line of fire. Excalibur clattered to the floor as the shot lodged itself in Merlin’s heart, and Arthur grabbed a hold of Merlin before he could hit the ground. Mab’s hostage was tossed aside, dead. 

“What?” Arthur whispered, shaking Merlin. It wasn’t of use; he was dead. “No. _No_ , this wasn’t -- Merlin!”

This wasn’t part of the plan. This was never part of the plan

Mab knelt to the floor on Merlin’s other side, eyes wide and terrified like the little girl Arthur had seen by the fireside. “ _Papa_!” She pressed her palm to the gaping wound on Merlin’s chest, the blood seeping through her fingers. There was such hatred in her eyes when she looked up at Arthur, that he almost staggered. “What did you _do_?” With a flash of her eyes, Mab threw him against the wall by the coffin, and kept him pinned there.

“What did _I_ do? I wasn’t the one who - he isn’t even - he can’t die...can he?” He didn’t like the uncertainty in his own voice. Alexi had said Merlin couldn’t die - that Merlin was a true immortal, whatever that meant.

“Yes, he can.”

For a wild moment Arthur thought Mab spoke without moving her lips, but no – her voice wasn't that warm or gentle.

Arthur turned his head to see where the voice had come from, and almost fainted from shock.

“What. The. Ever loving. Fuck.”

“Mother?” Mab’s whisper was feather soft.

There, hovering over the cracked coffin was a – it was a ghost. At least, Arthur was pretty sure she was a ghost, even if she didn't exactly look very transparent or dead. In fact, had she not been floating a few inches off the ground, Arthur would have guessed she was just another human.

“Hello, Prince Arthur.” The woman reached a long hand and touched Arthur’s shoulders -- fingers warm as any living person’s -- releasing him from Mab’s ties, and floated over to her dumbstruck daughter. “Fy mhlentyn.”

Watching them right next to each other, it was obvious to see where Mab had gotten her fiery red hair and bright eyes. 

“Mamma.” Amabel gasped as the ghost knelt in front of her and kissed her forehead. “How --?”

Something told Arthur now was not the time for him to interrupt their moment with inane questions like _how the fuck are you here? and aren’t you supposed to be dead_?

“Your father needs us, Amabel.” She took Mab’s hand in her own and laid it over Merlin’s still-bleeding heart. Her other hand reached into Merlin’s coat pocket and pulled out a small, triangular crystal: the Prism.

The crystal seemed to pull Mab out of her daze. She pushed away from her parents and stood up, eyes blazing with anger. “What are you doing here, Mother? Why have you shown yourself now, of all time?”

The woman blinked, a flash of surprise shooting across her face. She had expected Mab to do what she wanted. Her face turned stern, without loosing its maternal warmth. “Because you had blinded yourself to everything but your goal. Stop this now. I know you do not want this.”

“You have no right to tell me what I do or do not want!” Mab sounded petulant, much like a four year old demanding sweets before bed time. Arthur was sure she was going to stomp her foot any minute now. 

“Yes, I do. You have become a horrible creature of vengeance and murder. Look around you, Amabel. Your father lies dead, protecting you even now and you dragged an innocent man into a battle he was yet unprepared for. Are you not tired of sorrow and pain?”

Mab’s anger abated for a moment -- letting through just a glimpse of pain as she looked at Merlin’s body. “What happened? How is he -” She looked past her mother and sneered at Arthur. “What did he do?”

“He did what he was always meant to do.”

Suffice to say, Arthur was incredibly confused. How could killing Merlin be what he was always meant to do? 

This hadn’t been the plan. He was supposed to shoot Mab, and then Merlin was going to capture her in the Prism and lock her away for however long he deemed necessary. None of it involved Merlin taking the bullet himself. 

_But when has he ever told you the whole plan_?

Never. Merlin never told him what that bullet meant to do. He wasn’t sure why he had expected this time to be any different. 

Green flames licked the tips of Mab’s fingers, and he knew she meant to use them on him. “What was that?”

“Defeat you.”

Arthur stared at the green flames. Green like her eyes - her mother’s eyes. Green like the bullet.

“Oh.” _Merlin, you bastard_.

Before Arthur knew what was happening, Excalibur was in his hands and he was loading the green bullet. 

This time, no one stood between Mab and the bullet. It flew straight and true. Mab staggered, like she didn’t know what happened until she looked down at herself, confusion and pain and anger warring for dominance on her face. Her knees buckled and she collapsed next to Merlin once again, tears streaming down her beautiful face. 

“Mamma.” The ghost floated over and cupped Mab’s face. “I did it for you, Mamma,” Mab whispered. “Tell him - tell him I’m -” Shuddered wracked Mab’s body and Arthur knew she had very little time left.

“I know, my love. Rest now. All will be well.” 

Mab’s eyes closed and her breath stilled. He wanted to ask her mother what they were supposed to do now, and how this would help Merlin, but the words died in his throat. The woman reached into Mab’s chest, pulled out a bright, glowing orb of such brilliance that Arthur had trouble keeping his eyes open. Through the white haze, he saw as she brought it to the tip of the crystal and the light vanished, illuminating the Prism. She did the same to Merlin, but even though his orb was much brighter, it didn’t hurt Arthur to look. He stopped her just as she was about to touch the orb to the crystal. 

“Wait!” He gulped at the look of calm disapproval on the ghost’s face, but went on. He had to know. “I thought -- I thought this was supposed to save him?”

A smile, serene and dangerous, flashed across her face. “Have faith, Prince.”

And then she vanished, crystal and all, leaving behind the dead bodies of her husband and daughter. 

“Artie!”

Arthur whipped his head around to look at the entrance to the basement to find Alexi and Lance standing there, wide eyed and battered, but whole. Something told him they had watched the ghost departing suddenly. Arthur raised his hands in surrender. “I swear I am as confused as you.”

“Doubtful,” Alexi and Lance chimed in unison.

 

  
**Epilogue**   


_Saturday, June 25, 2031_.

_“After the devastating events of last Sunday, the people of London are rebuilding and reevaluating their beliefs. Still no word from Downing Street as to who - or rather what - those attackers were, although officials claim it was an experiment gone wr -“_

Arthur muted the television, cutting off the incredulous sounding reporter and turned to his father. “How long before they’re hounding at our door for answers?”

Uther put away the stack of reports and looked at the TV, face grim. “Olivia has been trying to keep them away for the past few days. It’s a good thing the Prime Minister is one of Emrys’ or we would have a whole other set of problems.”

Arthur hummed in agreement, and blinked when his father’s words registered. He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised anymore. 

“Has he woken up yet?”

Arthur stiffened at his father’s question. “Not that I know of.”

In the aftermath of the events in the dungeon, Merlin’s and Mab’s bodies had been taken away by members of the Order. Arthur hadn’t been told where they were being taken or what would happen, just that he shouldn’t expect anything of consequence to occur any time soon. 

Alexi had told him there were instructions left for the Order in Merlin’s study; notes he had written down decades ago. There was nothing in them about how long it would take for him to reawaken, however, and the Anfarlwols were lost. His heart was still pumping blood, but his body was nothing more than a shell. The Prism had taken both their souls, Alexi explained, when it was enchanted to accept just one - Mab’s. The Prism was neither good nor evil, it just craved powerful souls and there was no one more powerful than Merlin.

The Order was working to find ways to get the Prism to release him, but there was an external block put in place by Mab’s mother than no one - not even the most powerful Anfarwol - could break. Most of them were convinced it would be at least another century before Merlin came back.

He mostly tried not to think too hard about the last part. 

“Artie, I --” Arthur’s mobile rang, cutting Uther off. 

Arthur glanced at the screen and winced. He hadn’t realized he had been with his father for so long. “That’s Lance. He’s waiting outside with the car. Alexi’s insisting on dinner tonight.”

“Yes.” Uther’s mouth quirked slightly into a smile. “You didn’t think you could avoid her forever, did you?”

“I hoped,” Arthur mumbled under his breath, but he knew Uther heard him. “I’ll be sure to bring dessert,” he called over his shoulder as he left the office, and immediately regretted his words when Olivia glared at him.

“Your father’s physician has placed him on a strict, non-dairy, low-carb diet, Your Highness. It would be prudent if you refrained from bringing any such food home.”

“Yes, Olivia.” Arthur grinned at Uther’s fallen expression. “No dairy, no carbs, no fun; the joys of old age.”

“Very good, sir.” She strode past him and closed Uther’s office with a long-suffering sniff. 

Outside, Arthur got into the car with a stubborn scowl and ignored Lance’s and Gwaine’s amused glances. He had been avoiding Alexi and people from the Order as much as possible, a silent protest against them keeping him from seeing Merlin. He had been surprised to find Gwaine was still his chauffeur, but since Merlin had personally made the placement, there was little anyone else could do about it. 

“It’s just dinner, Artie.” Lance glanced at him sympathetically. 

Arthur refrained from whinging about how much he really did not want to have dinner with Alexi, who had yet to reveal anything about Merlin’s current condition. He had given up after that time she dropped by his house via Portal just to break his phone to stop his incessant texts. Things were still sour between them, so he wasn’t looking forward to spending an entire meal in her presence. But Alexi - and Lance, Uther, and everybody and their left toe - was convinced he needed to get out more and ‘do something bloody normal for once Artie,’ despite his insistence that the sofa was really the best place for him, really.

It was just Alexi and him for dinner this time, for which he was very grateful. He didn’t think he could tolerate any of his cousins tonight.

He was led to the same private room as last time, and Arthur wondered why Alexi had chosen this restaurant again when their waitress came flying at them, tackling both Lance and Arthur in an awkward hug.

“Oh, please, please, please tell me you Remember!”

He looked over her shoulder at a smug Alexi, and that was when it hit him. “ _Gwen_.” In all the insanity of the last few days, he had completely forgotten about Remembering Gwen, his _wife_. “How?”

The last time they had seen her, she didn’t seem to know who they were - although, to be fair, Arthur himself didn’t know anything about her the last time they met.

That was when she explained about the mysterious voice in her dreams that kept telling her it was time, and how one morning, a few days after the attack, she had started to Remember in bits and pieces. But she hadn’t been sure, hadn’t known what to think until Alexi walked into the restaurant. They had apparently been talking for a while now, and Gwen was all filled in on what had happened to Merlin. 

“It’s a little bit crazy though,” said Gwen, once she had let Lance and Arthur go and they were all seated at the table, “Mer -- Em, have to call him Em now, apparently -- having a daughter and wife. I just... Out of all of us, I would never have thought him to be the one to have a family.”

She looked at Arthur when she said that, but while there was a part of him reminding him of the love he had for her once - his Queen, his wife -- it just was not the same anymore. They were not the same people they had been back then. 

“He didn’t, though,” Lance said, staring at Gwen’s fingers as they worried at the tablecloth. “He never really had the chance at a family.”

“Well.” Alexi broke the sombre silence, taking a sip of her wine and smirking at nobody in particular. “Who knows? Maybe he will have his family again with Artie and his child bearing hips.”

“Morgana!” Arthur snapped, determined not to flush as memories of that night on the rocky hospital bed assaulted him. 

Alexi blinked at him. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

It was, he realized. He hadn’t called her by her old name before now, and he probably would never call her by it again, but it still felt like forgiveness for the long-gone past. 

“Child bearing hips?” Lance frowned, and it was almost comical how quickly his face smoothed into a look of dawning comprehension. “You and Em...”

“No.” Arthur pouted, because they _hadn’t_. Not all the way even though Arthur had wanted it very much at the time. Merlin had been adamant about drawing the line somewhere. 

Alexi and Lance laughed at him, while Gwen just ruffled his hair and muttered something about cute puppies and lost bones.

It was a fitting metaphor on some level, so Arthur let it go. The conversation moved on to Gwen’s life and speculation on how she hadn’t been sucked into all this from the very beginning like Gwaine and Alexi and hell, even Elyan.

Arthur reached home hours later, stumbling tiredly through the doorway. He waved off Lance’s steadying arm and struggled up the stairs. It was very late, he knew, and although he was slightly fuzzy on the details, he knew the only reason they left the restaurant when they did was because Gwen’s boss threatened to fire her. Discreetly, of course, since he would never make such threats around the Prince.

He closed the door behind him, assuring Lance that yes, he would drink plenty of water before going to bed. He turned on the small bedside lamp and jumped a mile when he noticed there was someone on his bed, waiting for him. The body under the blankets rustled and even in the dim light, Arthur could see the deep blue eyes boring into him. 

“You smell like Gwen and wine.”

Arthur startled at the innocuous statement, however absurd it might have been. “What the fuck? _Merlin_?”

Merlin reached out a pale hand and took Arthur’s wrist. His hand was so warm Arthur was convinced it would leave burn marks where the fingers pulled at him. “Come, sleep.”

_No_ , Arthur wanted to say to Merlin, _not until you tell me what the hell you’re doing here and how you even came back without anyone else finding out_. Besides, he didn’t think he _could_ sleep knowing Merlin was here, pressed against him. 

As if he could read Arthur’s frantic, sluggish thoughts, Merlin smiled and pulled harder until Arthur stumbled halfway onto the bed. “Shh. Answers tomorrow. Tired now...sleep.”

And what could Arthur say to that? He was too drunk and too shocked to say anything of import at the moment anyway. So he crawled onto the bed, kicking off his socks and shoes as he went. Merlin was like a furnace compared to the cool, air-conditioned air in the house, and Arthur shucked off his clothes until only his pants remained. 

“You better talk tomorrow, you bastard.” Arthur threatened as Merlin curled around him like a cat. 

“Mmm.” The lamp turned off by itself, or because of magic. That made more sense.

The next morning Arthur woke up disoriented and unsure of where he was. Then he remembered: Merlin! But the bed was empty and Arthur was afraid the whole thing had been a drunken hallucination, nevermind that he hadn’t been that drunk, regardless of what his pounding brain said. Merlin’s side of the bed was still warm though, so he wasn’t gone that long. 

He traipsed downstairs, lured by the smell of bacon and eggs. Lance must have asked the cooks to have breakfast ready. It wasn’t his usual cook whirling about the kitchen, making food this time.

“Hello. I figured you might need something for that preposterous hangover. Coffee?”

“What?” Arthur said dumbly as Merlin poured a cup for him and set it next to a heaping plate of food. “So you’re back.”

Merlin’s face split in a wide smile. “Yeah. The food is getting cold. You should eat.”

“Fuck the food, Merlin. Just --”

“Really? Because the eggs are a bit too runny for that, I’m afraid. Right, not in the joking mood, I see.” Merlin placed the spatula on a plate on the counter. “Why don’t you eat and then I’ll explain.”

Arthur glowered, but jumped onto the counter and began eating. He was hungover after all, and greasy food seemed like the best idea. By the time Merlin explained everything, Arthur’s anger had dissipated, leaving him with a sort of hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He looked down at his empty plate. “You lied to me.”

“Would you have killed me otherwise?” Merlin said, voice soft and understanding. “I needed to die so that my soul could live in the Prism. Mab would not have stayed by herself; she almost didn’t even with both our combined powers to contain her in there with us. I wasn’t even sure how much time had passed here. I was afraid it was too late.” He didn’t have to say ‘too late to see you’, for Arthur to know what he meant.

That made Arthur smile. “It’s only been a few days.”

“Not for me. For every day that passed here, I lived for a hundred years in the Prism. I thought.” Merlin reached up and cupped Arthur’s face in both his hands. 

It hurt to look at him at the moment, like he was too bright so Arthur ducked his head, “Where’s Mab now?” 

“Still in the Prism. Her mother will decide when she should be released, although I doubt either of them want to part company after so long.” He had look of wistful longing in his eyes that made Arthur’s chest ache.

“Got some quality family-bonding time in then?” he said, trying to make light of the situation.

“Hardly.” Merlin snorted. It made Arthur wonder just what had gone on in the Prism, but now wasn’t the time to ask for those details. Merlin leaned closer until their foreheads touched each other. “Arthur, I am so --”

“Shut up. Just...I am so pissed at you because you died -- you _made_ me kill you and then you left. And you never told me what was going on, and I should hate you by all rights. I should refuse to see you again, Merlin because a fortnight ago I had no bloody idea what the fuck was happening around me and now -- but fuck me if give a shit about any of that right now, all right? I’m just so fucking glad you’re back.” 

Arthur kissed Merlin then, hard and demanding and a little bit punishing. He meant everything he said. There were many things that were left unanswered, but that didn’t take away from the fact that Merlin was with him now. And Arthur honestly did not give a damn about anything but Merlin and -- potentially -- the bed upstairs. 

A pointed cough broke them apart. 

“Em!” Lance stood frozen in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, and then, “Do I smell waffles?” Arthur watched, incredulous, as Lance piled food on a nearby plate and dug in. “What?” Lance mumbled around a mouthful of syrupy eggs. “His waffles are delicious.”

Merlin stepped away from Arthur and winked at Lance. “You do remember what happened the last time you ate too many waffles, right?”

“Nope,” Lance said with the air of someone who knew exactly what Merlin was talking about. “So what’s this I hear about you and Artie’s child bearing hips then? Last I remember, kids didn’t work out too well for you.”

Arthur punched Lance in the shoulder and glanced at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. “We’re not done,” he muttered quietly as Lance was busy pointing out the flaws of Arthur having children. 

Merlin smiled at him. “Of course we’re not.”

_Fin_

.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave your thoughts at my LJ masterpost [here!](http://phandomoftheowl.livejournal.com/3865.html)=D


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